


The Varley Files

by sakuramae



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Epistolary, F/M, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route Spoilers, M/M, Minor Ferdinand von Aegir/Hubert von Vestra, Slow Burn, i recruited everyone because losing people made me sad, letters to the archbishop, no beta we die like Glenn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-03
Updated: 2020-07-03
Packaged: 2021-01-20 21:57:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 37
Words: 92,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21288815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sakuramae/pseuds/sakuramae
Summary: Felix Hugo Fraldarius, right hand to the King of Fodlan, has disappeared. In a flurry of letters to the Archbishop, Felix's sole daughter tries to piece together the mystery of a disappearing father through the words of her recluse mother. Unfortunately for everyone (except Uncle Sylvain the Number One Fan), Lady Bernadetta wrote quite a lot.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/My Unit | Byleth, Felix Hugo Fraldarius & Bernadetta von Varley, Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Bernadetta von Varley
Comments: 72
Kudos: 289





	1. Lone Moon, 1180

**Author's Note:**

> My loyalties have always been to the Blue Lions route. It's such a character-driven route, and I loved being invested in all the character arcs in the story. The Varley Files is heavily inspired by Where'd You Go, Bernadette? which kind of is perfect, because Maria Semple writes about an agoraphobic ex-architect who disappears, and we get snippets of the situation through letters, second-hand accounts, and documents. It's not lost on me that Bernadette AND Bernadetta are very similar to each other, but in my story, it's Felix who's flown the coop.
> 
> Where he is, only Bernadetta knows. Too bad no one can ask her anymore.
> 
> The Varley Files is a re-imagining of the Blue Lions route in the perspective of Bernadetta and Bernadetta's daughter through journal entries and letters to the Archbishop.
> 
> I plan to break the story up into months, with the Letters to the Archbishop included at the beginning of certain months.
> 
> Note: Blue Lions route spoilers!

**LETTER TO THE ARCHBISHOP**

_ Archbishop Byleth Eisner Blaiddyd _

_ Garreg Mach Monastery, Unified Fodlan _

_ Pegasus Moon _

_ To Her Esteemed Archbishop, _

_ Apologies for delaying so long in responding to your last missive. I admit I was reluctant to speak about the delicate matter that has come to the Fraldarius household in the recent year. Yes, my father is still missing, and while I have certainly been educated and groomed to command my father's household, it is still a sore point that he should have disappeared from home without even telling me. As you are aware, Fraldarius is mostly--if at all--not under my control (until several moons ago, my late mother had been the sole leading lady governing Fraldarius--and from her room, I may add!). The inheritance has now defaulted to me, but I have enough trouble as is in the north, and even with esteemed Uncle Syl on hand to assist, keeping Sreng from testing the borders is...tepid at best. _

_ Still, onto the matter at hand. _

_ You had asked for any information that could possibly lead to the location of former Duke Felix Hugo Fraldarius. At the time you had sent me a letter, I was not even aware he had gone missing. (The Lioness and I had only recently arrived from our excursion to the north.) _

_ Was I surprised about his disappearance? No. My parents were both eccentrics, particularly my mother, and my general response to her disappearing for long periods of time has often been: "Yes, but did you REALLY check her private rooms? REALLY?" She always shut herself up inside, though this should be no surprise to anyone. _

_ My father, on the other hand... _

_ In truth, Archbishop, I have no idea where he went. I wouldn't be worried, but when I'm getting a letter from both _**the Archbishop**_ and _**the King of Unified Fodlan**_ soon after asking about his right hand’s whereabouts, that gives me some pause. According to Uncle Syl, my father would "_never_let The Boar alone without supervision" (please don't repeat this to His Majesty). It is unlike Father to shirk his responsibilities, and even more unlike him not to tell Uncle, you, His Majesty, _or_the Lioness what his plans were. Perhaps he'd been kidnapped? _

_ No. I suppose not. Felix Hugo Fraldarius is not one to get easily taken. Especially within his territory. _

_ I cannot tell you where he possibly went. Fodlan is a big place. Logic tells me he journeyed south to the old Varley lands, though as to why, I’ve no inkling on the matter. However, I did find something that may interest you. _

_ Arriving with this letter are several journals from my late mother, Lady Bernadetta, wife to Felix Hugo Fraldarius and former heir to House Varley of the Adrestian Empire. Father was not a prolific writer, so it’s hardly a surprise that there is no record of his comings and goings, his actions, his _deeds_, after the years of the Unification War. If it hadn't been for the songs that were sung of the Savior King and his Blue Lions, I don't think I'd have known much about my father's past. _

_ Thankfully, it is _mother_ who kept good records--there are volumes of the day-to-day humdrum of inventories and household cares. But her interests were not only on the workings of the household. In fact, a majority of her other written tomes are dedicated to her actual life. _

_ Mother's prose is, I will say, quite excellent. Uncle Syl and I have been poring through volumes of journals dating back from the time Your Esteemed Archbishop entered Garreg Mach Monastery. Uncle has always been a fan of her writing, and much of the books that now line my shelves are stories my mother wove from even before I was in her womb. She records her meetings, her adventures, her fears, her love. It is difficult to fathom, but I do believe she and Father had loved each other very much. _

_I have yet to read the later years, but instinct tells me that somewhere in these Varley Files is a clue to where my father has gone. These were the last journals he'd read, according to the librarian. Father had gone so far as to request every single leather-bound volume to be squirreled away to his study. By the time I arrived, most of the journals had been opened, and there were notes written in the margins. Whatever my father was up to, I am sure it had to do with my mother's books._

_ So far, her musings are mostly that: musings. But you of all people would know her well, Archbishop, and perhaps you might find something Uncle Syl and I missed on our first go. I have written annotations in separate files and marked passages of interest. Let me know if you discover something Uncle and I did not. _

_ I shall write again in two month's time to tell you of any more findings regarding her journals. I shall also be sending more journals then. I hope the new season is finding you well, and give my love to Their Majesties! _

_ Signed, _

_ Felicity Glenn Fraldarius, Duchess _

_ Fraldarius Territory, Faerghus, Unified Fodlan _

* * *

**LONE MOON, 1180**

My mother was wrong on all levels. This new world in the Monastery was no better than being home, and I almost wish I was back at Varley in the comfort of my own room.

Except I would never willingly go back. Not when my mother took so much pains essentially _kidnapping me_ from the household. How she did this is beyond me, but I both fear and respect her decision.

Still, silly Bernie is having a hard time.

There are too many people here at Garreg Mach Monastery. If I'm not being forced to talk to the Archbishop, I'm being forced to go to class. I'm being forced to interact with my classmates. I'm being forced to _make friends_. The Black Eagles seemed like a good choice, especially since most of the people I speak to are nobles. Father would no doubt come marching forth screaming for a bloody religious war if he found out there are more than just _nobles_ in the Black Eagle House. (Quick, Bernie, we must come up with ways to hide our connection to Dorothea, _immediately_!). 

Our house leader, Edelgard, is fascinating, but a bit scary. I don't think she makes for a good wife. I kind of admire that. She is heir to a thousand-year-old empire, and I don't think Father would mind her too much, especially not if she'll be the new Emperor once the old one's dead.

Oh, Bernie, there you go again, rambling about politics that you certainly have no part in.

_ (Note: For someone who found herself to have no business in politics, Mother was _ very well _informed...) _

It's taking a lot of effort just to get to class. To be present, as mother would call it. It becomes difficult just making my way out of my own room to attend lectures, especially when there are _people _there. The professors are okay, but it's difficult trying to please them. What good am I as a student anyway? None of the subjects are things I've been groomed to learn. In place of etiquette lessons, I'm learning magical theory. To replace embroidery and needlepoint, I'm meeting up with an archery instructor, taking equestrian lessons, and learning how to hold a spear properly. It's confusing to say the least, and goddess, I am so very sore by the end of each day. It's been a good few moons and I'm fairly certain I still don't know how to swing a damn lance. Bernie is a lost cause, folks. I've accepted that, why won't anyone else?

Archery lessons, on the other hand, I kind of like. (It comes with the fact that I don't have to deal with any targets up close and personal. And _no sparring_, either!) Still, I'd prefer to avoid it and any interaction with people if I can.

**Bernie's Two Things That Give Her Solace at Garreg Mach:**

Thing One: The scenery. When you can find a place to yourself, always take advantage of the scenery. There are mounds of rolling hills and grass so green that even I could be persuaded to shed a tear over how beautiful the area is. It's no wonder that the monastery was built where it was built. It overlooks most things below, including the village that people go to during their free time. I prefer to wallow up on the monastery grounds while everyone else is away. Soooo much quieter and peaceful, and nobody bothers Bernie then.

Thing Two: The greenhouse. I guess this relates to scenery, but you should see the plants in there! Not even the gardens at Varley can compare to the amount of flora variety found in the greenhouse. It's another quiet place, and unless a student is on duty, not many go in. The greenhouse keeper leaves me alone most days, and there's only two other students who really come in to come see the plants for the most part. I try to hide when the giant from the Blue Lions House (De-something?) comes around. He's scary, but I do notice he’s gentle with the plants. Maybe he’s not too bad…

Marianne from the Golden Deer House also comes to visit whenever she thinks nobody’s there. I know this because she never sees me lurking in my own corner. Maybe she does know I’m around, but she doesn’t want to talk to me, either. Let’s be honest, Bernie, who _does_?

Sometimes I think Marianne is as much of a recluse as I am, but after more observation, I think her attitude is more a punishment than anything. I almost want to ask, but I don't.


	2. Great Tree Moon, 1180

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the new professor arrives and the Black Eagles react to her choosing a different house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the feedback so far! I'm pleasantly surprised there's some interest here, especially since I don't see many Bernie/Felix shippers. I tend to ship different people on different days, but these two are definitely head-canon worthy...when Felix isn't with my fem-Byleth...or Annette...or gay-pining for Sylvain, that is :D

**GREAT TREE MOON, 1180**

There is a lot of commotion this month over mercenaries. After the commotion _ last month _ about one of our professors running off, it seems too convenient that we'd get a new professor even before the seasons completely change. I mean, I'm not even sure _ why _Professor Alpin ran off. Were we too much for him? Was it Hubert’s face that finally drove him off? I wouldn’t blame him...Edelgard may like the guy, but he makes me shiver every single time he starts to laugh.

Oh goddess, maybe it wasn’t Hubert. Did Professor Alpin leave because of me? Was my magic skill _ that _ hopeless? Did Bernie do something wrong _ yet again _? Please say it isn't so.

(Breathe, Bernie, breathe.)

But what are the chances that this mercenary company would _ have _someone viable for us? Aren't mercenaries dangerous? I wonder what my father would think if he knew there was a possibility that I'd be taught by commonfolk. Boy, he'd seethe through his ears. I'd find the thought more humorous than terrifying, but there's really no getting around how Father would feel. Perhaps he'll whisk me back to Varley.

Let's hope not.

-

The new professor chose to lead the Blue Lions House.

Most of us find this out in the noticeboard just outside of our classroom, though if anyone had asked me, I would have been able to tell them. Who’d want to be in a classroom with a wreck like me as a student anyhow?

Also, I had seen the new professor walk into the Blue Lions House classroom at dawn, hauling a pile of books and fiddling with her cloak. She must have decided to use that time to prepare to announce the news to her students. Or, you know, to get some quiet before the storm.

We congregate a little before Professor Hanneman arrives for lecture. And by congregate, I mean that the Officers Academy students and Edelgard’s inner circle find themselves a section of the classroom to chat. How I manage to be part of this group is still miraculous to me. But then again, Dorothea is here, too, and that’s saying something, right?

Edelgard greets everyone with a terse nod of her head, her face cast in a frown. “I had hoped for a better outcome. Professor Byleth would have been a great addition to our house, and she would have made a fantastic asset for Adrestia.”

“What in the goddess for?” It is Ferdinand--always combative, competitive Ferdinand von Aegir--who retorts. “She could hardly know much more about the world than we do. She must be near our age from the look of it!”

“_ She’s _the one who saved our illustrious leader’s life at the camp, you ignorant buffoon,” snaps Hubert, Edelgard’s right hand. If looks could destroy, I’m pretty sure Hubert would have decimated Ferdinand by now. (That being said, I’m pretty sure Hubert could harm anything with a simple flick of his finger…).

“I heard all about that from Ashe!” Caspar quips, fists raised, though I’m not sure if it’s out of excitement or if it’s just one of his ticks. “Looks like Professor Byleth and her mercenary father went and kicked bandit a--”

“Don’t be crass, Caspar,” Ferdinand interrupts. He shrugs. “From the looks of it, there wouldn’t need to be a rescue if our _ illustrious _leader was prepared for the fight.”

My eyes go back and forth between Edelgard--who never seems perturbed by Ferdinand’s insults--to Hubert. Someday I feel like Ferdinand will have pushed Hubert too far regarding Her Imperial Highness and I swear, the mage will truly explode on Ferdie. Literally speaking.

The tension disappears when Dorothea laughs. “I think it’s romantic! A wandering mercenary comes in the nick of time to save a princess. It makes for a lovely, operatic beginning, don’t you agree?”

Some of the Black Eagles students--including Linhardt--nod. Linhardt yawns. “If anything, the story itself doesn’t get boring by the second telling.”

Ferdinand raises his palms as a sign of truce. “I suppose it does have a nice ring to it. But as I said, it is neither here nor there. Our mercenary professor chose to lead a different house. Having Professor Hanneman is not exactly a far cry from hopeless either.”

“I suppose,” Edelgard sighs. She still looked troubled.

"Edelgard," I squeak softly, muffled beneath the book I had put on top of my head. I take the book off and look up. I almost regret speaking, so I gulp and try again. "Having Professor Hanneman is a good thing, right? I mean, uh, he does teach offense magic. We need that, right?"

Hubert snorts in his disdainful, Huberty way. "Perhaps, but it does not take away the fact that he's _ too curious _ for his own good."

"Professor Hanneman _ is _ a good fit for a house filled with magic-users." Linhardt speaks. “And his research on Crests is fascinating to say the least.”

Edelgard glances at me and raises an eyebrow. "Linhardt I can understand, but I didn't think _ you’d _ find it a good thing, Bernadetta."

I fight my nervous jitters at being addressed. Nobody really notices Bernie. But goddess, Edelgard's stare goes _ right through you _.

"I'm no good at magic..." I say. I take a pause, because my brain at this point is panicking since oh-my-goddess-Edelgard-is-talking. To. _ Me _. "But...but Professor Hanneman knows his way around a bow, too...maybe he'll have some kind of, uh, magical training to go with that?"

Edelgard nods. "You are not wrong. This may be a learning experience for all of us then."

“It is always best to be learning,” Petra smiles, patting me on the shoulder in encouragement. For some reason, when Petra says those things, I am oddly comforted. I like Petra, the strange little princess from Brigid. I relax just a little bit and smile back at her.

Professor Hanneman finally enters the room, and we all head straight to our seats. Mine happens to be in the very back, where nobody will think to look.

**Bernie’s List of Black Eagles Students Who Don’t Scare Her:**

Person One: Linhardt. Linhardt might be a little too quiet when he moves around, and that’s a little scary, but he doesn’t bother me. Not really. I think it’s because he’s always napping, so on those times, he’s mostly harmless.

Person Two: Petra. She’s really nice, never yells, and I have never heard her say mean things about people. I wonder if she would want to be my friend. She’d make a nice friend.

I spy Petra in the distance. I might try to talk to her a little bit. I just need to work up that courage.

Go, Bernie, go!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will admit my first instinct was to choose the Black Eagles house. But I'd changed my mind BECAUSE of how Bernadetta's Japanese VA grated on my nerves. I wound up restarting my file after 20 minutes and went for Blue Lions instead (subsequently killing most of the Black Eagles post time-skip...oops). When I did my Black Eagles playthrough, I completely warmed up to Bernie. I think she's an honorary Blue Lions member, just by the fact that she did a LOT of character growing post time-skip.
> 
> She and Petra are hands down my favorite Black Eagles.


	3. Harpstring Moon, 1180

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bernie tries to avoid everyone, including that new professor, but fails in doing so.
> 
> In other words: first meetings are a bitch.

**LETTER TO THE ARCHBISHOP**

_ Archbishop Byleth Eisner Blaiddyd _

_ Garreg Mach Monastery, Unified Fodlan _

_ Great Tree Moon _

_ Her Esteemed Archbishop, _

_ Admittedly, not much happens with my mother the first few months after your entry at Garreg Mach Monastery. It is once you begin interacting with my mother that she starts writing copiously in her room. Your deeds are countless, Archbishop, and you may not want to hear them recounted, but I suggest reading my mother's words and taking them into consideration. It is one thing to be placed on a pedestal as a legend. Quite another to be painted as human. _

_ No updates on Father's whereabouts this time, but I did promise a letter. And quite possibly a gift. In between one of the last journals I read was an embroidered patch of a lion silhouette in blue. I think she'd absentmindedly placed it there after meeting Father for the first time. I would have sent it along to Fhirdiad through my courier, but it seemed a waste, knowing His Majesty is not in the capital at present. _

_ Also attached is a package of four-spice blend for the twins (which I have plenty), and chamomile for Uncle Dimi. I am unsurprisingly out of Almyran Pine Needles, but I shall be sure to pass some along once it is warm enough in the north for my father-in-law to discreetly visit his extended family--and, in-so-doing, provide us with the best tea flavor of all. He does like to impress with such things, after all. I’ll make sure to send him your regards, if you don’t see him before we do, that is. _

_ All my love, _

_ Felicity Glenn Fraldarius, Duchess _

_ Fraldarius Territory, Faerghus, Unified Fodlan _

* * *

**HARPSTRING MOON, 1180**

Blast it, Bernie! This'll teach you to daydream in public!

The new professor--Professor Byleth--practically waylaid me today. Between her and Edelgard I don't know who's got me panicking more. What I do know is that I do not appreciate it one bit that this professor knows exactly where my normal haunts are. The nerve that she should bother me when I want so terribly to be  _ unbothered _ !

Just the other day, she'd come up to me when I was watering the plants. Traipses right up to me without a by-your-leave, clears her throat, and then asks me how my day is going.

It was  _ going well until she showed up _ .

But I didn't say that. How could I?

"I..." I stammer. Goddess, I almost drop the watering can, Professor Byleth giving me such a fright. "Don't sneak up on me like that!"

The professor tilts her head, the way she normally does when she has more questions than answers. "Excuse me?"

"Gah!" Of course I'd blurt something stupid out loud, and now it's clear the professor hates me. By this point I'm sure she's already  _ judging  _ me and that's such a mistake because you're not supposed to be RUDE to teachers, and-- "I'm sorry, I'm sorry! I was just--"

"Bernadetta, please, I just wanted to say hello," Professor Byleth asks. In retrospect, I'm pretty sure she meant this gently, but I'm there going full-panic mode and I don't even want to be in the greenhouse anymore.

I shove the watering can at her. "Yep. And this is my friend Watering Can. Watering Can, Professor Byleth. You've met, I'm done. There's one more corner of the greenhouse that needs watering. Thanks, bye!"

And goddess, I ran out of there as fast as I could.

It would have been a clean getaway, too, if not for the fact that I run into Dorothea, who was walking down from the student quarters. Trying to explain to her what's got me into a tizzy is just another hour of useless time spent outside. With  _ people _ .

"Bernie?" She approaches as though this was the most normal thing to do.

Let me tell you right now. It's not. Especially since Dorothea is a commoner. No no no to commonfolk!

"Uh, oh, hi Dorothea," I squeak, still out of breath from hightailing it out of the greenhouse so fast. I'm sure Professor Byleth must be scratching her head at what just happened. Or worse. She's plotting revenge against me! Gah, Bernie, why do you do such stupid things?

"You seem flustered," Dorothea says. She raises her hand and puts a palm on my forehead. It takes all of my willpower  _ not  _ to flinch. Maybe it's because I'm so tired, because I actually let her hand touch my head, and I don't swat it away or panic. "Are you ill?"

"Ngh...no," I finally say, then back away. "Not...not at all. Just...I was just running."

"It's a strange place to be running. If you wanted to train, you could have gone with me to the training grounds," she says. "I just finished a very productive round with--"

"Oh, no, oh no no no," I respond. "No sparring for me, thank you very much. Running is...running is good. It's healthy. And it requires no one else. Yes. I think I'll go running some more. In my room. With no one."

Dorothea’s smile falters, and I can tell she's trying to be patient with me. That's not a good sign. People  _ trying _ to be patient with me usually means I'm annoying them. I get to be so annoying sometimes. "Running in your room? But Bernie--"

"I'll catch you later, Dorothea!" I say, then start sprinting again. I don't even bother to look back to see if she'll try running after me. Normally, people don't.

Thankfully, this time, nobody stops me. I make it to my room. Ah, sweet,  _ sweet  _ seclusion. I enjoy breathing in the scent of flowers nearby, a mixture of daffodils, carnation, and pitcher plant--

Wait. Daffodils? Carnation?  _ Pitcher plant _ ?

"Somebody was in here," I say, horrified. I glance all over the room, find the offending vase of flowers on one of my bookshelves.

There is a note attached to it.

_ Bernadetta, _

_ Someone mentioned you had a fondness for pitcher plants. Dedue had given me some seeds last month, and I harvested quite a bit for my room. I thought you'd appreciate these. _

_ \- Professor Byleth  _

Oh goddess. Professor Byleth was in my room.  _ Professor Byleth was in my room _ . When? How?  _ What _ ?

Was nothing sacred anymore?!

This just in: Bernie is going to faint from confusion.

**Bernie’s List of Gifts She Likes:**

Gift One: Sweets. I could be persuaded to leave my room for some cake. I’m not the only one, though. Last night I caught Lysithea and Annette sneaking around to the kitchens, only to come back to Annette’s room chewing on slices of cake, with cookies gathered in small bundles. My stomach grumbled at the thought, and I almost knocked on the door to ask for a piece. I didn’t.

Gift Two: Plants. Well, I like pitcher plants the best, because they remind me of the warm colors of the south. It was the best part of the Varley greenhouse back home, and one of the very few things I miss.

The flowers do smell nice, at least. It is soothing enough that I don’t even realize I lost my satchel in all my running.

Up until I do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I ping-pong between shipping Byleth with Dimitri and Byleth with Claude, and I suppose this has to do with the kind of ending I prefer. To be honest, my head canon sees Byleth with Dimitri (even though my first file I married Sylvain, lmao), but that Claude von Riegan is SO FINE and so FLIRTY and I just love me my tall dark handsomes.
> 
> For the sake of this story, and the fact that it's a Blue Lions Route kind of thing, it's strictly Byleth/Dimitri. With twins. It's adorable.


	4. Garland Moon, 1180

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bernie has an encounter with the Blue Lions but still comes away without a satchel.
> 
> Or...Sylvain and Felix are major traps.

**GARLAND MOON, 1180**

Sometimes I feel like the world is physically out to get me.

And if it isn't the world, then it's a Blue Lions student.

I don’t know what it is about the Blue Lions House that is so full of intrigue (no, not the right word...psychotic students? Still not right...), but I’m pretty sure it has to do with the professor. And some of those boys that are always so darn  _ visible _ .

For example, that Sylvain. I’m minding my business in the library, thinking of getting some sewing done--because of all things, Leonie needs a patch-up in her clothes, and of course Bernie decided to volunteer herself--when a bushel of red hair peeks out of a bookcase and heads straight toward me.

Sylvain Jose Gautier likes to talk about himself a lot. I was warned away from him before going into Garreg Mach, because even  _ his  _ reputation preceded him. The way some girls sigh over him, you would think he’s the most handsome man of the age. He’s not bad-looking, I will admit, with his tousled red hair and the way he casually smiles and flirts with everyone, but he’s no snake-tongued charmer like Claude von Riegan, the Golden Deer’s leader. Now  _ he’s  _ the type of guy who could woo any girl on the spot. Any guy, too, if he really tried.

**FGF:** (Uncle Syl is quite affronted that he’d be compared to the likes of Claude von Riegan of all people. I politely reminded him that I’m married  _ to  _ a von Riegan, so my mother is not wrong on that front...)

Does Bernie even  _ have  _ a type? Hmm, this is something to ponder.

**FGF:** (Mother very much has a  _ type _ . Her type is strong, silent, tall, a skilled swordsman, and usually handsome. No biases, of course.)

I mumble my responses to Sylvain’s question, up until he starts talking about a manuscript. Which he found. Which was mine.

That is when I really lose my head. He uses words like “really talented writer” and starts talking about my book as though it is something to be published.

Can you believe it?  _ Something to be published _ .

No, no, no, why would anyone want to do  _ that  _ with anything I write? Bernie, what is he saying?

“I’m dying to read more!”

Dying. Dying dying dying dying…dying like my soul. Like my life in Varley. Like those bandits going up against Professor Byleth in battle. Death, destruction. The ultimate end.

A hand waves across my face, and the skirt-chaser’s face looms down from above. “Bernadetta? Are you okay?”

I take a deep breath. “Sorry, um, was someone talking about a story?”

He scrunches his face in confusion. I bet most girls would have swooned or sent him laughing by now. I bet Father would have chastised me for being the exact  _ opposite  _ of most of these girls. “Yes? That would be me. I read your book.”

“Y...you read my book?”

It was so humiliating. How could I have been so careless? How in Fodlan did I misplace my story? It was  _ not  _ ready for the world to see! I mumble my excuses--or something of the like, honestly, I don’t remember what I said--and walk away.

Ugh, he actually read my story. I regret everything now. I can’t burn his memory even if I burn the pages...not unless I throw him in the fire too…

To be honest, the thought comes through vividly, and I can’t help but feel the flicker of heat and the fanning of flames and the screaming of a certain Blue Lions jerk who’s out to humiliate me. That would shut him up.

I shake my head. “Don’t think things like that, Bernie.”

I’d be no better than my old man if I did.

* * *

And if that book-encounter wasn’t bad enough this week, I get another run-in with a Blue Lions boy.  _ Why are there so many of them _ ?

I’m just walking out of the classroom when I see him. Felix. The extremely sour-faced boy who almost never leaves the training grounds. Dark-haired, menacing Felix.

He's walking toward me. With a purpose. If I run, he'll chase me. Maybe if I just hold really, really still...I begin to hold my breath and pretend I'm a tree.

But nope. No. The world is physically out to get me, remember?

It doesn't help that he stops and stands right in front of me, blocking my exit away from him. Do I go back? Do I sidestep him? Do I flail my arms in panic? But he hasn't done anything yet, so maybe I'm just being paran--

"Ahem."

"Whatever it is, I didn't do it! I swear!" I raise my hands to protect my face. It doesn't occur to me that perhaps I'm in  _ his  _ way, and this is why he's giving me that menacing frown. "Unless...I'm offending you just by standing here?!"

He sighs, brushes a loose lock of blackish-blue hair out of his smooth face. His other hand is holding something out. Wait...I recognize it.

"No. Here," he says. "I believe this is yours."

"Huh? Oh. Yeah, that's my satchel." My satchel. I cannot recall for the life of me where I’d misplaced it... "Wait, wh--where did you get that?!"

Felix looks at me like he just lost a duel with Prince Dimitri. Felix doesn’t like to lose, so he’s definitely not looking happy. (Does he ever look happy?) "Stop asking questions and just take it."

I back away. "Nuh-uh. No way. No.  _ Trap _ ! It's a trap!"

" _ Why _ are you acting like this?" I swear he reddens like a tomato. I swear it, because I'm pretty sure my face is just as red from the screaming I'm doing.

" _ Acting _ ?! Does this terror on my face look fake to you?!"

The outstretched hand continues to stretch toward me. "You're being difficult. Come on, this is yours."

Many things can keep me on the spot brimming with fear. An angry swordsman is one of them. "I can't! Your icy glare has frozen me completely!"

"Shut up! Just take the thing."

Flashes of my father come to light, and I'm taken back to that hateful room in Varley. My mind goes numb at the memory. At Father looming over me, a piece of rope in his hand. I feel the tug of said rope, the chaffing at my back. I can hear him snarling out the same cruel words over and over again, until he finally leaves, closes the door and I am left in darkness and silence.

_ "Just shut up, be a good girl," Father growls, his face red and bulbous and angry...so angry. Angry enough to kill. “I’ll return once you’ve learned  _ your place _ .” _

"No!" I scream, close my eyes, duck down. "P...please don't kill me!"

Whatever he says next is lost on me, because all I can see is the pommel of his sword, and that's the breaking point.

I see the glint of the dagger pushed up toward my throat. I hear the words of a man who is capable of making good on his threats. I see--very briefly--how my mother flinches, but holds on and doesn’t cry, even when her only daughter is locked almost every day in a room with no windows. With no light. With only rope and a metal chair and her terrified thoughts.

"Sword! He's got a sword!" I scream again, flailing, moving, moving.

Kicking, screaming, moving. Just moving. That's all I can do to withstand that horrible room. Be swift, be flexible, be nimble, Bernie, just don't get caught again. Never get caught again. On reflex, I move my hands. I swipe the sword, disarm my attacker. I take the sword and toss it to the side.

"My sword! How did you--"

"I can't do this anymore!"

I keep moving until I’m running. And I keep running until I find my solace.

**FGF:** (I don’t know how my father felt about reading this. It seems their first meeting triggered a horrible memory of her time at Varley. I wonder if he’d gone there to tie up loose ends, but that would mean confronting my grandfather, who is long dead.)

* * *

I cannot begin to tell you how relieved I am that the Blue Lions House is being sent out to quell an uprising. At least then I don't have to show my face to that black-haired swordsman for a while. I bet you he hasn't forgiven me for the nonsense I pulled on him.

Perhaps I should make it up to him. In retrospect, maybe I was too hasty in my yelling.

**Bernie’s Ideas to Say She’s Sorry:**

Idea One: Cooking. Felix must have some sort of favorite dish. Lysithea mentioned he’s not a sweets-person, and Annette did say that he likes spicy things. Maybe I can cook something spicy for him. I’m a pretty good cook. Cooks make for good wives, after all. Wait. Not that I’d want to be his wife. Gah! I’m not expressing myself well right now, am I?

Idea Two: Embroidery. I notice Felix wears elaborate clothing, something most of the Kingdom northerners do. His doublet could use some embroidery, right? A patch of a blue lion, to show his loyalty to his prince.

I mean...that is the way of things, right? Frightening Felix Hugo Fraldarius may be, but there’s no denying he has a way of fealty to his house and his future king. If only I could feel the same kind of loyalty to my own house and my own name.

Then again, perhaps it’s better I don’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That first meet cute with Felix is deeeeefinitely one of the first times Felix looks up from his sword training to go "What? Whoa hey, that girl is...pretty damn good. I MUST KNOW MORE!" After all, there's nothing more attractive to him than someone who's got a skill that impresses him.
> 
> Also, I'm mostly miffed that Sylvain has so many B-supports and very little A-supports. I adored his fangirling over Bernie's novel, and honestly, his side story and drama was my favorite.


	5. Blue Sea Moon, 1180

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bernie officially jumps ship and finally asks Byleth the recruitment question.

LETTER TO THE ARCHBISHOP

_ Archbishop Byleth Eisner Blaiddyd _

_ Garreg Mach Monastery, Unified Fodlan _

  
  


_ Blue Sea Moon _

_ To Her Esteemed Archbishop, _

_ Many thanks for sending the packages along to Fraldarius territory. I know Fodlan’s Throat is the more convenient location for trading goods, especially when House Goneril is the household gateway into Almyra, but as I’d mentioned in our northern conclave last moon, His Almyran Majesty decided to take a sojourn west. He plans to spend some weeks in Derdriu before making his way to Fraldarius for the rest of the month. His last letter jokingly called it a “birthday treat to himself.” _

_ If only His Majesty would do the same and treat himself from time to time. Please remind Uncle Dimi it does him no good to work himself to the ground. (Neither does it do  _ you  _ any good, Archbishop.) The people love him enough already. What they  _ don’t  _ want to see is their king having a breakdown, especially when his right hand isn’t there to pick up the pieces. _

_ I hope he is holding up without my father. His Majesty is made of stronger stuff. I hope Dedue is not hovering too much, he does tend to hinder as much as help in day-to-day affairs. I do hear the twins are alleviating some of the workload. Did you two decide on who’s succeeding whom yet? (I understand it may not be my business, but inquiring minds and all that…) _

_ Complications with Sreng have once more increased with the warming season, though it is nothing Faerghus’ northern houses can’t handle. Sreng bandits would have to cross Gautier territory before making their way into Fraldarius, and even if they do get in, I have a slew of veteran falcoknights and wyvern lords courtesy of Galatea and my father-in-law. _

_ It helps that Uncle Syl and the Lioness are utterly meticulous about border security. Those two are attached at the hip, except when Uncle Syl decides to visit his favorite goddaughter to make sure she’s not having a panic attack. Since Uncle is reading this over my shoulder, I would also like to remind  _ him  _ that I don’t need two men in my life to take care of me. I was taught by the Sword of Faerghus, after all. _

_ As for the journals, reading them has gone to a standstill. I’ve been preparing for another excursion to the north. I doubt my father made his way to Sreng of all places, but I am not closing my ears to the gossip if anything. If Father did go to Sreng, we’ll be able to pinpoint him. How difficult is it to find a wandering, middle-aged mortal savant anyway? _

_ That question was meant to be rhetorical,  _ Uncle _ . _

_ Something did strike me as odd in the latest journal entry I sent along. My mother isn’t one to wax romantic, but did you notice that the moment she joined the Blue Lions House, she becomes more focused on  _ trying  _ to make friends? Was that your influence, Archbishop? It certainly wasn’t my father’s. If anything, he was doing the exact opposite of trying to woo her. _

How  _ those two fell for each other, I don’t even know. _

_ All the same, I am grateful things turned out the way they did. _

_ Once again, thank you for the packages. Claude will especially love the strangely-shaped aged cheeses you’ve managed to acquire for him. (Was that Uncle Dimi’s doing, by the way? Novelty cheese doesn’t strike me as your thing, no offense, Aunt By.) _

_ All my love, _

_ Felicity Glenn Fraldarius, Duchess _

_ Fraldarius Territory, Faerghus, Unified Fodlan _

* * *

**BLUE SEA MOON, 1180**

No matter how many times I talk to people, it never gets better. And yet...

A woman asks for directions today and I almost brush past her. It would have been so easy, if not for the fact that I was trying to get on a certain professor’s good side.

She says she is looking for the public sauna. It’s been a running joke now that nobody but the villagers use the sauna at the monastery. I know where it  _ is _ , but honestly, how often do the students actually use it?

(Case in point, I have not once used the public sauna. I prefer to take my baths in the most private of baths and I am not ashamed to say this is the most nobly-minded thing I do.)

“They’re um, they’re just up the stairs near the training grounds,” I say, aching to walk away already.

The woman gives a slight bow. “Thank you, Lady Bernadetta. I will take my leave now.”

My mind sighs with relief. “Oh. Uh, good. Good. Bye!”

I make sure the woman is out of earshot before breathing out and muttering, “Finally. That was absolutely  _ awful _ . Terrifying.” I shudder in spite of myself.

“What’s terrifying?”

I swear my soul almost jumps out of my body. I was going to have an outer body experience.  _ Bernie was going to die _ . “Ah!! Please don’t sneak up on me like…”

Oh, it’s Professor Byleth.

“It...it was nothing big. That lady a...asked me to show her to the sauna! I tried to be polite but strangers are so nerve-wracking.”

The professor ponders this and smiles a bit. I ease myself into a conversation with her. For some reason, nowadays I’ve gotten better at talking with Professor Byleth.

“You’ve never seemed scared of me,” she finally says, crossing her arms.

And that’s the thing. I notice this, too, but I can’t help but ramble. “Oh yeah? How about when I first met you and I wouldn’t come out of the corner or even uncover my face?”

Professor Byleth chuckles. “I remember that. You’ve gotten better, though. We’re having a conversation right now. And you haven’t bolted like you did the first time I spoke to you.”

The memory of the greenhouse makes me groan, and I cover my face with my hands. “You’re never going to stop reminding me of that, aren’t you?”

“Not in the least,” she grins, and it kind of makes me warm. The professor is notorious for barely showing emotion, and yet she is right in front of me, smiling the most genuine smile I’ve seen from her. “I’ve got your friend Watering Can to periodically help with that.”

I shake my head, and I can’t help but giggle as well. “Actually, now that you mention it, it’s funny. Once I started talking to you, I...I stopped  _ feeling  _ scared. I wonder why…”

For a time, this realization could not be put into words. And yet… “You know, Professor, you might be the first person I’ve been able to speak to normally since I got here. And...and I have no idea why.”

“I’m glad regardless.” This was said so softly, I almost don’t hear it.

I smile, a little excited in spite of myself. “I’m happy about it, too!” I tell her about how I hated doing drills outside, going out into the forest with people I didn’t know. Thanks to Professor Byleth, though, I can actually make it through a class, and I am grateful for that.

So grateful, in fact, that this was a request long time coming.

“So listen, Professor,” I begin, the nervousness that had disappeared before coming back. “I, um, I wanted to talk to you.”

“Oh?” she tilts her head, to show she is listening.

“I, uh...canIjoinyourclass?!” The words jumble into one long saying, and I breathe again. “Can I join your class?”

Her mouth opens up in surprise and she blinks a few times.

“I know I’m useless, and nobody really wants me, but I promise I--”

“Sure, Bernadetta.”

“--can do much better, and archery is really my strong suit, so I know that’s a pretty valuable skill--”

“Bernadetta.”

“--Petra’s been teaching me--”

“Welcome to the Blue Lions House.”

“--so I--” it occurs to me then what her reply had been, so I stop rambling. “Uh...was that a yes, Professor?”

“It’s a definite yes,” she’s smiling so widely now I almost hug her.

“Oh. Yes! Uh, I mean, thank you!” I bow. “Sorry. I’m okay...I. Am. OKAY. I’m doing fine. Great! Thank you so much, Professor!”

In retrospect, things could have ended right there and I would have been a happily Blue Lion Bernie. But nope.

“By the way, was that you singing in the greenhouse?”

Oh no. Oh no no no no. Somebody  _ HEARD  _ me?!

“Wh...what? Y-you saw that?! Why would you see that?! You were watching me?  _ THAT  _ crosses the line, Professor! Singing? Me?! Why would I be singing? I’d never be singing! Ah! I’ve never been so humiliated!”

The professor must definitely be regretting agreeing to transfer me to her house by now. I mean, after she’s heard me singing? Goddess, why did you make such a useless, worthless, unmarriageable child?!

**Bernie’s Fears Regarding Switching Houses:**

Fear One: Hubert von Vestra. I would have said Edelgard, but to be honest, she would probably be less annoyed than Hubert. I spoke to Edelgard about switching houses to further my studies, and she seemed almost relieved that I’d break from her. I think it’s because she sees no use for me in her house right now. I guess it’s also got to do with the fact that my father is the Minister of Religious Affairs, and after moons of being in the Black Eagles House, it occurs to me that  _ that  _ department will be the first to go in Edelgard’s empire. Still, Hubert has been staring daggers at me, almost as much as he’s been glaring at Ferdinand. Although, from the looks of things...turns out Ferdinand and Hubert aren’t exactly  _ enemies _ . Not anymore.

Fear Two: The Blue Lions Boys. Prince Dimitri has been nothing but nice and cordial. He’s always looking for supporters where his kingdom is involved. Perhaps he sees me as a valuable asset in the south, even though I probably won’t get House Varley for a long while yet. It’s not Prince Dimitri who scares me, though. It’s the rest of the boys in the Blue Lions. Maybe except Dedue and Dimitri. I’m still trying to avoid Sylvain like the plague, but there’s no going around the rest. They’re either way too friendly or…

Or they’re Felix Hugo Fraldarius.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My story is beginning to get away from me a little bit, because while the regular Bernie narrative is chugging along its not-so-unpredictable path, the present time is getting a little bit more complicated. Things do start to connect at some point, promise!
> 
> Also, clearly this future universe has my girl Felicity having close relations to both Fodlan and Almyra. No regrets.


	6. Verdant Moon, 1180

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bernie overhears a conversation and winds up talking literature and thinking of sour-faced baby swordsmen.
> 
> Or that time Felix and Sylvain argue.

**VERDANT MOON, 1180**

I’m beginning to regret joining Professor Byleth’s house. They do scary things here. Like fight inside a tomb filled with goddess relics and who knows what else. Like having to be sent further from the field to shoot at some crazy dark mage.

_ Like fighting a Death Knight _ .

Unbelievable, Bernie, you sure know how to pick them.

A lot happened at the end of last month, so I’m hoping this month things will die down a bit. Heh. I don’t mean literally! Not actually  _ die  _ die...just...oh, you know, we need a calmer environment. How are people going to study properly when something is always happening every month?

Perhaps I might need to train a little bit more than I have to. Oh, but it’s a little nerve-wracking, especially when it comes to going into the training grounds.

Especially since  _ he’s  _ always there.

Felix Hugo Fraldarius.

Sometimes I have this uneasy feeling that he’s watching me. I can’t really prove it one way or the other. It’s just every time I’m trying to get some training in (because I swear, Professor Byleth is  _ always  _ on my case about this), he always seems to stop, and once or twice I’ve caught him just...staring. Not at me. He’s not being obvious. But I do question why he keeps staring at a pillar. Or one of those practice dummies.

Anyway, he was at the training room today, as was Sylvain.

Oh, goodie, I think to myself. These two never stop prattling.

For once, as I pick up a bow and aim at the target, I don’t get that prickly feeling of being watched, and I know it has to do with Sylvain being there. Felix’s attention is taken up by his friend, who’s talking to him about girls.

I almost snort.  _ Of course  _ Sylvain is talking to him about girls. When is Sylvain  _ not  _ girl-crazy?

**FGF:** (I’d defend my uncle, but Mother is not entirely wrong...)

By the sound of Felix’s exasperated sigh, I know he’s annoyed. “You’re interrupting my  _ training _ .”

The bow is becoming a second part of me. I take a deep breath and feel the pressure of the bowstring as I pull it back.

“Hey, come on. Don’t talk like that. How long have we known each other?”

I take a breath.

“Long enough if you ask me. We only know each other because of our parents’ friendship. I didn’t have a say in it.”

I loose the arrow. The arrow hits the target, but I’m some ways off of perfect accuracy. Silly Bernie and her aim. Petra had tried teaching me once, but I’ve been avoiding her ever since she’s been calling me “prey.” Oh Saint Seiros, that teaches me  _ not  _ to ask her for help.

I hear Sylvain chuckle as I pick up another arrow.

“Is that how it went? Huh. I remember it more like you always following me around. Whenever there was something wrong--like you lost to your brother or you fought with Dimitri--you’d come crying to me. You were so meek and pure back then, cute even...like a baby brother.”

I completely miss the target this time, and the arrow hits someone else’s target.

“Watch it, Bernadetta!” Leonie calls out, clearly annoyed.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry!” I call back. My cheeks are red like spicy fishcakes, and I look to where Sylvain and Felix are standing, only to see them staring at me. I want to disappear. Or fly out on a pegasus. I’ll even settle for a wyvern. “Uh, don’t mind me!”

Felix stares for a bit longer, and Sylvain is giving me that usual grin he has around girls. The swordsman eventually turns back to his friend and sighs. “That’s enough.”

“What?”

I go back to re-drawing my bow, though it’s difficult to concentrate now, because my mind is trying to reconcile Felix of the present to cute crybaby Felix of the past. It is  _ oh so hard  _ to visualize, so that’s taking up a bit more of my brainpower.

“I said, that’s  _ enough _ .” Even as I back away, I can hear that the conversation has gotten louder. More heated.

“Hey! Sorry. I just came to see if you wanted to pick up some girls. I didn’t mean to get on your nerves.” Sylvain sounds almost apologetic. That would be something new.

Felix begins to start walking. I think he’s prepared to leave the training grounds, which is an uncommon thing usually. He stays in here for  _ hours  _ after most people leave. As he does so, he continues growling at Sylvain and I’m almost sad that he’s  _ not  _ his cute, pure, crybaby self anymore. Why am I even interested in this?

“And you’re always prattling on about women!”

“Well, if a man sees a pretty girl, he can’t just let her pass by without commenting. That’s just rude. Hey Bernadetta!”

I drop my arrow and my head swivels towards them, eyes bulging. “Uh...what?”

“You’re looking radiant from practicing with us lowly mortals,” Sylvain winks. He turns to Felix. “Don’t you agree?”

Oh Sothis. Oh Seiros. Oh please make it all stop.

Felix stares at me, narrows his eyes. I could swear he reddens a bit, then turns to glare at Sylvain.

I will admit, his glaring is a little bit better than Hubert, but not by much. Those looks could definitely still kill...if his sword doesn’t do that for him.

“You’re  _ insatiable _ . Do you ever stop? Certainly not to practice your sword technique. You always skip training. And you never consider how your actions hurt others...or how you hold them back. Can’t you see you’re distracting Bernadetta?” The last bit seems so out of place I’m almost in shock that Felix even considers me.

Sylvain must be thinking the same, because his eyes widen with surprise. “Oh. Wow.” He turns to me. “Sorry, Bernie.” To Felix. “That’s never my intention. Come on, you know me better than that. I’m not really—” he sighs. “Look, if that’s the impression I’ve given you, then I’m sorry.”

“Hmph.” Felix storms off, and this time, Sylvain stands there, not following him.

He’s unusually silent, and by this point, all thoughts of training is out of my mind. I don’t know what to say to him, but I approach him, a little at a time. He notices me and smiles down. “He’s right, you know. Sometimes I forget to consider how other people feel about what I say or do. That must have bothered you, the fighting.”

“Oh, uh, not really.” I really want to have him describe little old, baby brother Felix, but I don’t. “I’m...not so good at training anyway.”

Sylvain brushes a hand through his already messy hair. “All the same. Sorry. It’s...becoming a pattern. I’m having a rough week, and I think Felix sees that. He doesn’t want me going through the usual motions when he  _ knows  _ what we’re about to do. He hates that I’m just avoiding the issue, and that’s him lashing out at me.”

I gulp. Right. We just heard from Professor Byleth and Prince Dimitri that this month we’re to go after a Gautier. Well, ex-Gautier. Miklan, Sylvain’s disowned older brother.

He sits at a bench, and I put the training bow back to its place. I sit next to him, fiddle with my hands. I think he starts to relax, and I realize then that he just needs company. I suppose I could give him that much.

A part of me still wants to bolt, though. And it takes every bit of my power just to stay seated and, as Petra says a lot when it comes to hunting, not “scare the prey.” Not that Sylvain is anything  _ like  _ prey. I’m more prey than he is.

“What would your heroine do?”

I blink. “What?”

Sylvain glances at me, raises an eyebrow. “In your book. If your heroine has to choose between orders and blood, what would she choose? Does she refuse to fight, knowing that she’ll be fighting her brother? Or does she abandon this family member to a fate he so truly deserves?”

Somehow I know he’s not talking about my story or my heroine anymore. But I think about the problem anyway. It’s a puzzle, because to me, family is a complicated thing, and I’d like to think that my heroine has the same problems.

“I think that depends on family,” I say quietly, thinking of my own.

The answer piques his interest. “Oh? How?”

“I...I think most people are responsible for what they do,” I say. “You--my heroine can’t blame herself for every action a family member does. She can’t be responsible for picking up the pieces all the time.”

“Huh.”

“It’s...it’s like this.” I try not to dwell on my own situation, but it’s difficult not to think about Father or Mother. “My heroine’s, uh, uncle. No, aunt. No! Father.” Darn it, Bernie, don’t make this about you! “Brother, then. Yes. Brother. My heroine’s brother kills an innocent man and is tried and sentenced to death. It’s the law that he’s broken. And my heroine can...either break him free and let him escape, hoping that he won’t ever do it again--kill a man, that is. Or...or she can let the law uphold itself. Let fate and the goddess be the judge of him now.”

Sylvain rubs his chin. “It’s easier said than done. The brother was brought up terribly. He’s trash now, yes, and I admit I will probably lose little sleep about him finally getting his comeuppance. But...you can’t completely blame him for stealing--ah, er--killing that man in cold blood. Not when you also have his parents to blame for doing horrible things to him. If it were the heroine in her brother’s shoes, wouldn’t she be doing the same?”

I shake my head. “Actually, no.”

The quick and definite response seems to surprise him almost as it surprises me. Normally, I would stammer, but the idea fascinates me so much that I’m kind of enjoying where the conversation is leading. “My heroine isn’t treated as badly as m--the brother, but like her brother, she knows right from wrong just as well. He made his own decision. Perhaps he was angry. Maybe he just wants revenge. My heroine understands that, but she knows there’s always another way. She knows that at the end of the day, choosing to react violently is just going to blow up in her face.”

“And maybe she knows…” I hesitate, but Sylvain looks so interested in what I have to say that I continue. “Maybe she knows that it’s too late for him. That whatever she does will not be enough anymore. And...and choosing to help the other side is the only way to move forward. To make the changes that actually matter.”

We stay silent, thinking about our own problems. I try not to think about how this could apply to my father, to my mother. I try not to think about how my uncle is always trying to make things up for me by being the nicer brother. I try not to, but I fail, and I can feel my anxiety returning.

“You know, Bernadetta,” Sylvain says, breaking the silence. “People underestimate you.”

“What?” I do not expect  _ that _ .

“You’re a tiny, strange girl,” he chuckles, and I redden, almost flail in panic. “Wait, let me explain!” I had gotten up, but he urges me back to sitting. “You like being cooped up in your room too much, I admit, but you’re pretty observant. And insightful. And,” he pauses, smiling his usual impish, girl-crazy smile, “that kind of makes you beautiful.”

Ugh. He’s back at it, and now I’m embarrassed that I’ve been sitting with him for this long. I get up this time, and he doesn’t stop me. “Uh, okay. Gotta go. Nice talk. Bye!”

“Thanks, Bernadetta!” I hear him call out before I round the corner away from the training grounds.

Seiros, if I never have to give words of advice again, I would be a happy Bernie.

**Thoughts Running Through Bernie’s Mind:**

Thought One: I hope Sylvain reconciles his inner conflict regarding his brother. I think Miklan is really in the wrong, and when push comes to shove, I know the professor will be forced to take action. All the same, I also hope Sylvain does not have to fight his brother. I’m a little afraid of what that will do to him, and as much discomfort he gives me for flirting and finding ways to humiliate me, it kind of makes him...well, Sylvain.

Thought Two: I really can’t get the thought of little Felix out of my head. I’m not sure why. But there’s something about him now that’s a little unnerving. It wouldn’t hurt for him to show some kind of vulnerability. Ashe says he’s like those knights in the adventure stories he reads. It flusters Felix when Ashe says it, but I don’t disagree. He’s much more of a knight than Father will ever amount to be. I just wish he would, oh, I don’t know, smile a bit more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Does it bother anyone else that Sylvain has very few A supports? I feel like he should get several more. If not with the ladies, then with DIMITRI AT LEAST. Ugh. Such a shame. He's a personal favorite of mine. And his Felix support convos are some of my fave bits.
> 
> It does bother me a little bit that Sylvain's dialogue with Byleth dismisses his disowned brother so easily during the chapter. I mean, the guy hates that the world revolves around Crests, and his brother was disowned BECAUSE he didn't have a Crest (so honestly, let's blame parenting 101 here), which led to this downward spiral, so why didn't the writers make Syl a little more sympathetic?!
> 
> Bleh. It's probably why I ended up trying to fix that here.


	7. Horsebow Moon, 1180

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bernie tries to avoid being murdered, poisoned, or dismembered by a certain frown-y swordsman.
> 
> Or...that B-support with Bernie and Felix. But with tea and cookies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If Felix wasn't such an awkward turtleduck...
> 
> Nah. I'm pretty sure this would have happened anyway because Bernie's just as awkward of a turtleduck.
> 
> And I love them both for it.

**LETTER TO THE ARCHBISHOP**

_ Archbishop Byleth Eisner Blaiddyd _

_ Garreg Mach Monastery, Unified Fodlan _

_ Wyvern Moon _

_ Archbishop, _

_ I hope you are well. King Dimitri sends his regards, but is regretful to say that he will be detained north in Fhirdiad until the Ethereal Moon. He’s been in a thunderous mood once I gave him the news up north and is preparing to mobilize for his next campaign. The Tempest King is what the people will be calling him soon, I bet. _

_ I am writing this missive for him and for my goddaughter, who, as you are now probably aware (because Ingrid would have told you already), has been grievously injured after our last visit to Sreng. Don’t worry, she’ll be okay. _

_ Things, however, are not looking good at the border. Back in the late King Lambert’s day, Gautier had managed to hold off any imminent invasion because the Srengi were hardly a threat. They had too many warlike chieftains vying for power, and by the end of a season, one of them died off to be replaced with the newer, stronger chief. And on and on it went.  _

_ It is not so now. Our scouts have been talking about a new chief, one who’s been solidifying his power in the north. Slowly, but surely. Apparently he’s been doing this for years but we’d been so preoccupied by internal affairs--and Almyra and Brigid and goddess knows what else--that the intel from them slipped through the cracks. This is partly my fault, I’ve not been keeping as much tabs on my Sreng contacts, thinking that there’d be nothing left but desert and wasteland. _

_ We took wyverns to travel to the Bolg mountains (the ones that overlook Sreng) to try to gain more intel, but were waylaid by archers and wyvern riders.  _ The Sreng chiefs have wyvern riders.  _ In the years that Gautier has been in the Kingdom’s service--over 200 and counting--this has never come up as a cause for concern. Whoever the Srengi are dealing with has been providing them with the means to weaponize themselves against us. _

_ Fey was at the heart of the attack. They shot her wyvern down the moment they could get a chance, and we know she’s not a terribly good flier. She’d broken a few ribs by the time I caught her mid-fall. _

_ Thankfully, my paladins came riding down from our side of the mountain. Ingrid’s quick thinking saved us all from becoming target practice by the overly-zealous Srengi. Once we’d cleared the skies and run off our attackers, I flew us out and back into Gautier territory. Fey is convalescing with us here, so it will be some time before she makes it back to Fraldarius. _

_ I don’t know whether I want Felix to hear the news about his daughter. On the one hand, I don’t ever want Fey to come to mortal harm on  _ my  _ watch. Ingrid and I practically treasure her like our own, and it’s killing me that I even let her get ambushed like this. I was  _ right there _ , Byleth, and she was still hurt. _

_ On the other hand, I  _ want  _ Felix to hear about his girl. Maybe the thought of not being here  _ to protect his heir  _ will get him out of hiding, wherever he is. But then again, the thought that he’s missing because of more...nefarious reasons has crossed my mind. The wyvern riders were very specific in their attacks against Fey. Too specific, I think. That puts both Fraldarius members out of commission for the time being. _

_ Sorry all I’ve got for you is bad news. I promise the next letter will be penned by my goddaughter once again. She’s more chatty than I am, and that’s saying something. _

_ I’ve sent news to Curan as well. If you can, please try to dissuade the hotheaded Riegan from leaving Fraldarius territory. He does get overprotective from time to time, and Fey would probably give me a piece of her mind if she knew her husband was headed north to ensure her safety. Somebody has to help run the Fraldarius household from within, but in truth, if anything happens to  _ him _ , I’m half expecting some Almyran incident to follow soon after. _

_ And we don’t want that. _

_ Keep safe, _

_ Sylvain Jose Gautier, Margrave _

_ Gautier Territory, Faerghus, Unified Fodlan _

* * *

**HORSEBOW MOON, 1180**

This month is beginning to be a frantic one. After the past few weeks, it has been hectic at the Blue Lions House, and we’re all still pretty shocked at what happened to Miklan. 

It’s never easy to talk about death, but I’m going to go ahead and do it anyway. Rip off that bandage, Bernie, go on!

Miklan died at the end of the Verdant Moon. If there had been a way for him not to lose his life, I was sure the Professor would have found a way. Still, there really was no choice in the matter. Miklan had already done enough damage, and to top it off, there was a thing he did where he  _ turned into a monstrous beast _ .

I cannot unsee that. The screams will stay with me until eternity.

If puzzling over Crest-monsters was the only thing to worry about, I’d probably be stuck in my room refusing to go out. I need a lot of time alone after that nonsense.

But then Professor Byleth came to us a few days later about Flayn’s disappearance...

Goddess, to think about the Death Knight being somehow responsible for Flayn being missing is giving me shivers. But that’s the truth of the matter. She’s been child-napped, and nobody seems to have a clue where she would have gone.

I already looked for her by the student quarters, and I can assure you, she’s not there. I even went so far as to venture to the greenhouse and the fishing grounds, and that’s usually where she is…

In fact, I’d been roaming the greenhouse for just that reason, when…

“You.”

Saint Seiros, I swear I jumped so high up I saw stars. Or is that not the saying?

“Ah! What’d I do? Am I in your way? I’m in your way. I know. I get it. I’m sorry! I can’t stand the sight of me—”

“Cool it,” Felix says, grabbing my wrist and physically dragging me to a corner of the greenhouse.

Oh goddess, it’s finally happening. He’s finding a secluded spot to murder me and hide the body. I’m a slight build, and I’m pretty sure if he wanted to, he could stuff my corpse behind the plants—

“Tea.”

\--I’m sure I’d make a great fertilizer. Because obviously that’s the best use of dead Bernie anything’s ever going to get—

I blink. “Say that again?”

Felix frowns. Correction. He was already  _ frowning _ , but his face contorts to an even meaner frown, if anything. “You like tea, don’t you?”

“I...I do?” I realize I posed that as a question, and he raises his eyebrow. “Oh, I...yes, I do like tea.”

“Alright,” he turns and nods back towards the greenhouse doors. “We can grab some at the gardens.”

“Wait. What?”

“Oh for the love of—I’m inviting you to tea.”

He says it so quickly and so dismissively, like a list he’s ticking off in his head. Item one, scare Bernadetta half to death. Item two, invite her to tea. Item three, lull her into complacency with sweets and quite possibly poisoned Albinean Berry Blend. Item four, bury her body in some secret room, like Flayn’s possible corpse...

My thoughts run away with me so completely that Felix shakes my arm to get my attention again. It’s my turn to frown, because I only just realize that he  _ is  _ still holding my arm.

“So how about it?”

“Is this a trap? But why?”

Felix finally lets go of my arm, and for a brief moment, his face drops his usual menace, and it looks uncertain. He pauses a moment, his hand goes reflexively towards his side where his sword is. “I...there is a personal matter I want to discuss.”

I wait for him to continue, because I’m still not sure why he needs me for some personal matter. The waiting gets too long, though, and before things get even more awkward, I start walking. “A...alright.” I say warily. “As long as you promise not to murder, poison, or dismember me.”

He snorts. “I promise I will not try to murder or poison you.”

“And dismember.”

“...what?”

“You won’t try to dismember me, either.”

“Oh for the love of--yes, I won’t try to dismember you.”

I eye his sword with suspicion, then nod. He takes the cue and nods forward, letting me lead the way.

The walk to the garden cafe is a quiet one, and I fight every desire to turn back to see if Felix is still following me. I can still feel the prickling sensation of being Felix-watched, so that alone tells me that he is. All the same, there must be something he needs to talk about because why in Fodlan would he want to invite  _ me  _ of all people to tea? We don’t even like the same things half the time!

We both stand in front of a remote table in the corner of the cafe. I fiddle with the tablecloth nervously, and he clears his throat. “O...oh.”

He waits for me to take a seat, and I do. He takes his own seat across from me, and once we’re settled, he asks an apprentice to bring us a Four-Spice Blend and a Honeyed-Fruit Blend.

It’s my turn to raise an eyebrow. “How—?”

“I asked the professor,” he grunts. “She’s taken tea with enough students by now that she knows we have preferences.”

We sit silently as the apprentice brings the tea. With the two pots, he also provides a small basket of assorted cookies. Felix helps himself to the tea but does not touch the cookies. I go straight to nibbling on a lemon-flavored one before I sip my tea.

I still don’t know why he’s brought me in for tea when half of our time is spent drinking and--in my case--eating cookies. Clearly it’s not because he enjoys my company. He still continues to frown.

Finally, as the area gets busier, and the apprentice is no longer walking near us, Felix straightens. “Sylvain mentioned you.”

Any warmth from the tea I just had starts draining from my face. I pale, and my hand starts to shake. Sylvain didn’t mention my book,  _ did he _ ? Oh dear Sothis, this is an embarrassment on a completely different level.

“He said you were a helpful sort.”

A helpful sort. My hands stop shaking. Now I’m just being really paranoid. “With  _ what _ ?”

Felix sighs. “I understand you talked of family matters. He didn’t go into detail, and I suppose I should have asked, but...” He shrugs. “Family isn’t what I want to talk about.”

“Then  _ what _ ?” I almost jump right there. I’m beginning to think he  _ is  _ trying to poison me. But that can’t be it, because I just drank  _ all  _ that tea and I’m still not dead yet.

Though I did hear about how Claude created some sort of poison to make your stomach hurt days after...maybe Felix borrowed that and put it in my tea! He must’ve found a way to administer it in my teacup or teapot even with me staring at the table the entire time--

Bernie, you let your guard down, you silly—

“Stop!” I had gotten up, and his voice jolts me back into reality. “I’m  _ not  _ here to poison you.”

I must have said that aloud. My mouth goes slack, and I cover my face with my hands.

“I thought we were over this,” Felix says, and I can swear there’s the irritation in his voice creeping up again. “I invited you to tea, and I haven’t poisoned anything. I’m  _ not  _ going to kill you. And my sword is staying where it is, by my side. It’s  _ not  _ going to be used to dismember you. So can you stay right there? Please?”

I swear I made up the “Please” part, but he says it again, and I uncover my face.

“You’re always running away. You must  _ really  _ find me irritating.”

There it is. “Irritating, I know! I completely--What? No, I mean, I know I’m irritating, but—Huh?”

He doesn’t let the comment sink in. Whatever pleasantries he wanted to get from tea and cookies is now past, and he presses his palms on the table, leaning forward with a purposeful glint in his eyes. If you’ve never seen Felix fixed on something, well…

I will admit, it’s fascinating enough to get me out of my self-pitying stupor.

“Do you remember when you came up behind me and knocked the sword from my hands? I need you to teach me that technique.”

The fascination gives way to incredulity. “Sword? Teach?  _ Technique?! _ ” I laugh nervously. “That’s, um, that’s a joke, right? Because that--that’s just about the most  _ ridiculous  _ thing I’ve ever heard. Not that...you’re ridiculous or anything.” Oh boy. I just told the guy who took me out for tea that he’s being ridiculous.

Wait. He didn’t take me out to tea. He dragged me. Yes. That’s the better word.  _ Drag _ . This was  _ not  _ a voluntary event. Not in the least. I refuse to believe it is.

“Maybe so. But I saw you do it. You don’t remember? You moved like a flash, and before I knew it—”

I blink. Oh goddess, he must be talking about my full-blown panic mode. Had I done that to him? I must have. And now he won’t let it go. “Nope! Wasn’t Bernie. You must have dreamed it. Unless my accuser  _ dares _ to produce some evidence.”

He removes his hands from the table and fiddles with something on his side. When his hands resurface, they hold a little brown pack, and I feel the lemon cookies start coming to life in my stomach. With a vengeance.

“Yes, evidence. I still have your satchel. See?”

“O...oh. My satchel. W-wait, that?” Maybe it’s not too late to deny everything. Why is he tormenting me so? “No, that’s, um, that’s not mine. You can’t prove it’s mine!”

“You  _ know  _ it’s yours.” He stands, takes the satchel, and puts it right in front of me. The cafe is still brimming with noise and laughter and people having tea, but we are in a corner, and he stands above me, a menacing figure drenched in afternoon light.

If Ignatz was here, I’m sure he’d want to paint a picture of the scene. At least, if I had half of Ignatz’s skill,  _ I would _ . If I wasn’t about to combust from how nervous a wreck I’m becoming. I’m really no good at these situations.

I gulp. “I’m...I’m innocent--I swear!” I brace myself. “Merciful Seiros, save me!”

“This is getting nowhere. But, hmm…” He bends now, face almost level with mine. Amber eyes still filled with that purposeful gleam. Any minute and he’s going to invade my personal space and I. Can. Not. Have. That. My breathing becomes short, and suddenly the open garden becomes a closed, warm space and I find myself wanting to claw my way out. Wanting to reach for the rope to tear it away from me.

I don’t know when I do it, but I take the empty basket of cookies and swing it at Felix.

“What the—!”

“Aaaaah!” I shriek, and he backs away, almost stumbles, if not for his swordsman’s grace. He holds onto the tablecloth and rights himself back up before I can take another swing and hit him with the bottom end of the basket. “Lies! All lies! I didn’t do any—”

I drop the basket, horrified.

Felix looks shocked. Disappointed. Livid. His shoulders sag, and he replaces that purposeful look with one of his countless glares. “You know what? Never mind. I’m  _ done  _ here.”

I take deep breaths, not knowing if I’ve done the right thing. But he was so close, and it was hard to breathe, and...oh, Bernie, you panicked again. Now he’s gone, and doubtless that’s the last time he’ll try to interact with you...

And well, somehow, I think I made a mistake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so, SO sorry, but the letters in the fanfic's present time got away with me. It's like the plot bunnies took over while I was away and decided to add extra complication to the story.
> 
> I have a plot, I swear!
> 
> Also, I don't think I ever unlocked the rest of the Bernie-Felix supports until post-time skip, so I guess at this point I'm going to have to start making them up! Lol, Sothis help me.


	8. Wyvern Moon, 1180

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bernie contemplates tapestries, missing persons, and friendships with commoners.
> 
> Or that time Flayn is finally found and Dorothea tries to C support Bernie in the aftermath.

**Wyvern Moon, 1180**

We found Flayn! Okay, maybe “we” might be too much of an exaggeration, since I took little part in actually finding her. But I will take credit for helping her to the medical room.

Mostly because I froze when the time came.

Jeritza’s chamber is menacing. It is no different than most of our student quarters, with its stark and soldier-like furnishings. Unlike our quarters, the knights’ quarters are more spacious, and thus covered with tapestries over the walls. The nobles’ quarters usually have a rug and a small banner to indicate their houses, and most of the knights usually have one simple banner of the Church of Seiros hanging by the side of their rooms.

This is not the case with Jeritza. In place of the wall hangings showing his loyalty to the Church, his walls are lined up with darker banners, almost like tapestries depicting a battle. I commit some of them to memory, noticing the banners being flown in each tapestry, noticing that there are at least ten.

The Ten Elites? I file the information away for now.

As I stare, transfixed, it dawns on me that there’s more to the room than meets the eye. I confirm this feeling when Professor Byleth hurries back from the corner of the room they were examining.

“Secret passage,” Professor Byleth quickly explained. “We found—”

“Professor Manuela needs aid,” Prince Dimitri continues, his arms full of Professor Manuela. He grunts, looks at Professor Byleth. They share a look, and I cannot help but envy the fact that they can converse without words to each other. Professor Byleth nods, and he turns to the rest of us. “I’ll return as soon as I can. In the meantime, I need you to support the professor. There are two more unconscious bodies by the secret passage. Please help in any way you can.”

And with that, the prince heads out of the knights’ quarters and towards the second floor of the monastery. Professor Byleth shouts her own orders, and we mobilize ourselves towards the secret passage.

The sight of Flayn and a second figure on the floor stops my motion. For a moment, I think they are both dead, and I steady myself on a wall.

It is Petra the huntress who crouches down, takes their pulse. It is Petra who sighs with relief and looks up, smiling grimly. “I am glad that they are still living,” she says. “But I am thinking they will also need some healing.”

“Do what you can,” Professor Byleth says. “I need a few of you here to help. The rest of you, come with me.” She does not wait for a response. She heads through the passage, knowing that her Blue Lions will be right behind her.

Felix darts through first, Dedue, Sylvain, and Ingrid in tow. The swordsman glances back, locking eyes with me. It is only a brief moment, a moment lost within all the little moments that happen at the same time.

I don’t know what he is thinking as he turns away, disappearing into the cavernous expanse. All I see is his look of disappointment the last time we spoke. His words of frustration.

_ “I’m  _ done  _ here.” _

I lose my nerve. I cannot go in there.

I stammer an apology. The room is too stifling. The unconscious bodies on the floor too unnerving. I am getting claustrophobic. I am seeing glimpses of the past that I would sooner forget. I am seeing my father before me. I am seeing his disappointment, his irritation, his fury.

_ “What use  _ are you _ , Bernadetta?” _

I cannot breathe and I know I’m about to have another one of my episodes.

Ashe’s hand rests gently on my shoulder, and I let out a breath I did not know I was holding.

“I’ll go,” he says in his quiet voice. Sweet Ashe. Kind Ashe. He squeezes my shoulder. “Flayn and...this other girl needs attending to. It’s best if a few of you gets them both to the medical wing as soon as possible.”

“Y...you’re right,” I say, looking at Flayn. She’s small enough for even slight Bernie to help carry. Slight Bernie  _ can  _ be useful. Maybe. I look at Ashe, feeling confusion, guilt, relief. I should head down with him. They might need more than one archer below. What if one arrow went straight for—

“Bernie and I will take care of Flayn,” Dorothea’s musical voice rings out behind me. “Ferdi, help with the other student?”

“I--yes, of course I will,” Ferdinand responds. “It is, after all, the noble thing to do.”

Somehow I think Ferdinand wants to go down through the secret passage, too, but Ashe already runs in, followed by Annette, Petra, and Lysithea. Pretty soon there is no one else in the room, save for me, Dorothea, Ferdinand, and the two unconscious females.

I don’t bother thanking them for staying with me. I don’t bother apologizing. It will only come out to be a jumbled mess, and I know for a fact they won’t want to hear me anyway. Dorothea just looks at me and purses her lips. I try to say something, but she shakes her head. “Bern, whatever it is, we can talk later, okay?”

“O...okay.”

“Ferdi, be a dear and stop gawking,” Dorothea says, still smiling. “We’ll follow your lead. I’m sure your noblesome self can take care of--who is she?”

The heir to House Aegir gingerly picks the red-headed stranger up and slings her over his shoulder, moving past us and towards Jeritza’s door. Wordlessly, Dorothea and I take position on opposite sides of Flayn. We prop her up and we each take a shoulder, following Ferdinand out of the knights’ quarters.

By the time we make it to the second floor, it is Mercedes who meets us halfway. She rushes out of Professor Manuela’s office in a flustered state. “Oh! There you are! Dimitri mentioned you’d be coming by with--ah! It  _ is  _ Flayn! I’m so glad.”

Mercedes leads the way towards the medical room, and we follow, passing Professor Manuela’s office. I catch a brief glimpse of the professor lying on a makeshift cot in her office. It explains why Mercedes was coming from there.

The healer instructs us to place the two girls on separate beds. It seems like hours later that we are finally ushered out of the room to let the healers do their work. Dorothea sinks down to the floor, hair matted on her forehead with sweat. Ferdinand watches the movement, and he turns quickly away when Dorothea glances up.

“This is  _ some  _ day we’re having,” she murmurs before closing her eyes. She voices the relief we are all feeling at the moment.

“I worry for the others,” Ferdinand quips, brushing the sweat off his own forehead. “Who knows what they have found at the end of the passageway.”

“Nothing good,” Dorothea replies, eyes still closed. I sink down next to her. She feels my presence and tilts her head, almost as though to put her head on my shoulder. Thankfully, she doesn’t. Perhaps she knows me more than I thought. “But Professor Byleth is with everyone, and she always seems to pull through.”

I nod. I say nothing as the two continue to chat. I stop listening to the conversation, letting my mind wander over the day we had, to the conversation that occurred before..

My mind goes back to Jeritza’s room, and the hurry with which the prince left it, carrying Professor Manuela in his wake.

I open my eyes. The hospital wing was past Professor Manuela’s office, and there is no other pathway to get from one to the other heading up the stairs.

So why is it that we didn’t catch a sight of the Faerghus prince?

“Where’s Dimitri?” I ask softly.

Dorothea, Ferdinand, and I stare at each other, at a loss for words.

* * *

The days leading up to the Battle of the Eagle and Lion are filled with bundles of nerves all around. Just about everyone is anticipating the fight, especially those of us who joined from other houses.

It’s why I am stuck with Dorothea, Petra, and Ferdinand more often than I would have liked.

It is Ferdinand who approaches me first. Perhaps it’s because he feels a connection, since we both helped Flayn in our own way.

The way he tried to coax me out of my room, though...well, it backfires really quickly. The next thing I know, I’m apologizing to the guy for spraining his wrist.

Now you’ve done it, Bernie. Clearly this means you’ve turned Ferdinand von Aegir into your eternal rival.

Even though he insists he is not there to hurt me. Even though he leaves of his own volition…

It is Dorothea who comes bounding up next. She catches me humming and daydreaming in the greenhouse, talking to myself about friendship and being close to someone.

“Bern, are you okay?”

I make a noise between a gasp and a squeak. Seriously, Bernie, you need to calm down sometimes. “Dorothea! Did--did you hear all that?”

Dorothea giggles. “Just the part about you wishing you could get along with someone.” She winks and sidles up to me in a conspiratorial fashion. She lowers her lashes. “Soooo, Bern, who’ve you got a crush on?”

Crush?  _ Crush? _ Whaaaa—

There must have been something on my face, because she squeals with delight. “Oh, come on now! Seriously, you  _ have  _ to tell me. Who are they? Do I know them? I am  _ so  _ excited for you, Bern!”

Whaaaaa—-no. Absolutely not. We are not having this conversation. No no no no _ no.  _ I stop the images in my head from fully forming. I stop any thoughts of amber eyes and frowning lips and dark, dark hair— “Um. N...no. No! I was...thinking! About...about being friends. Yes! With you!”

Dorothea’s infectious grin fades to a confused smirk. “ _ Me _ ? I thought we already were friends.”

I need to think more quickly on my toes. Come on, Bernie, what else do you say? “That’s...that’s n--not what I mean. I’m such a coward!” I take a deep breath, and thankfully, Dorothea waits for me to express myself. “I thought it would be great if we could be closer.”

I do think about what I say next, and once I say it, I know it is true in a sense. “But old memories...they just get in the way for me.”

The ex-opera singer smiles that soothing smile. Somehow it is no surprise that she can charm her way through life. Dorothea has that way about her that exudes friendship and camaraderie. It is only a pity she’s a commoner. And I really should distance myself from them…

_ You’ll only watch them get hurt. And it’d be your fault, Bernadetta _ .

I shudder.

“Bern. Bernadetta,” Dorothea says, “Whatever happened in the past, you  _ know  _ you have my full support. I’m here. For you. I thought we’d already been friends for a long time now. Please—”

“Just forget it,” I say, walking away again. I am always walking away from something. “We’ll never be close friends. Father would just...he would just…No!”

I cover my ears, trying to block out the memories, but they chase me all the way back to my room, and I am left near tears as I remember the commoner that lost everything.

And it was all because of me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As far as I'm concerned, Dorothea has been a constant staple on my team as "that girl who can vanquish foes from afar." Up until Lysithea's range gets a major boost, that is...


	9. Red Wolf Moon, 1180 (Part I)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bernie takes part in the Battle of the Eagle and the Lion (and Deer).
> 
> Or that time nobody actually dies but fighting ensues anyway.

**LETTER TO THE ARCHBISHOP**

_ Archbishop Byleth Eisner Blaiddyd _

_ Garreg Mach Monastery, Unified Fodlan _

_ Red Wolf Moon _

_ To Her Esteemed Archbishop, _

_ Despite Uncle’s insistence that I “rest like a good little Fey for once,” you and I know that I’m cut from the same cloth as my father. I resumed training the minute the healers declared me recovered. _

_ I admit the events at the Bolg Mountains have shaken me. Much of that predicament was due to my own failings as a wyvern knight. I am not often in the skies, so I neglect that training in lieu of other, more practical skills. I have decided that while I am still here in Gautier, I have been accompanying the Lioness in her morning routines. She proves a very capable teacher, should you ever need a guest lecturer with extensive knowledge of the skies. _

_ One of the things I found of note as I accompany Aunt Ingrid during her mornings is that she is responsible for mapping out the terrain beyond the mountains. She has been doing this not just for Gautier, but in Galatea as well, and on occasion, His Majesty even sends her east at Fodlan’s Throat from time to time (did you know this? I did not…) It appears to be a never-ending process, but she had explained that terrain, while familiar to most of us who live there, is constantly changing. This applies very well to deserts, where sand erodes even our deepest footprints. How does one, then, create a proper route for anyone to travel in? Why not just take to flight all the time? _

_ Clearly flying is not always feasible, as is proven with my case. _

_ The Lioness, however, has been doling out falcoknights in her employ, and some of her key players have been planted in certain locations throughout Sreng as scouts. Not all of them have reported recently, but from the gathered news, the Sreng warchief is planning something big. The extent of it, goddess only knows. _

_ There was something else I’d been made privy to, and if it hadn’t involved a certain flying route through Fraldarius, I’m sure I would have paid it no mind. But… _

_ On one of those maps the Lioness had given me responsibility for, I noticed several routes that flew south and back to Sreng through Fraldarius territory. It’s a pathway that reaches all the way down to Merceus in the south, and some of the key stopping locations include Fraldarius, Galatea, Charon, the Monastery, Bergliez, and Varley. _

_ I bring this up because if this was a flying route, having a stop between Varley and the Monastery makes little sense. It is no long distance between my late mother’s relinquished lands to Garreg Mach, and any flyer stopping from Fraldarius to Galatea can reach further distances without stopping and resting down the valley. Besides, Varley already belongs to the Monastery, so why is it considered separate on the map? _

_ Aunt Ingrid has given me the map to further research. I feel as if there’s something in the route I should thoroughly investigate. _

_ Rest assured that Curan and my father-in-law are aware of my recovery, and by the Ethereal Moon--should His Majesty find no need of me in his campaign north--I shall return to Fraldarius. As much as Uncle’s hospitality has been nothing but doting, and as pleasant as it is to spend some time with the rest of his family, I would like nothing more than to be in the comfort of my home. And to avoid Uncle’s periodic mutterings of diplomatic incidents. _

_ He does get overly dramatic, I’m afraid. Something he shares with my father-in-law. _

_ All my love, _

_ Felicity Glenn Fraldarius, Duchess _

_ Gautier Territory, Faerghus, Unified Fodlan _

* * *

**RED WOLF MOON, 1180**

The Battle of the Eagle and Lion (and Deer) happened at the end of last moon, and I feel as if I need to drench in the memories. If only because it seemed a rather strange event. Scary? Maybe a little. Mostly, I was afraid I’d have to fight against my former Black Eagles friends, and, as it so happens, I ended up having to.

What I did not expect was that Felix Hugo Fraldarius would be fighting alongside me.

Gronder Field is a massive battlefield just east of Varley. I recognize the terrain because it is a famous training ground for Varley soldiers. There are numerous scouting locations outside of the field, and a ballista in the middle as defense against the flyers. Between three small armies, it is still a place that takes some time to traverse on foot.

We are stationed in the northernmost spot of Gronder Field, each of us given our own maps in case we are told to separate. I am given a battalion of my own archers and tasked to make my way directly south. There is a raised ballista section at the top of the hill, manned by the Black Eagles, and Professor Byleth asks that I commandeer it.

I gulp. “But...professor, really? Do I have to do it?” My voice squeaks as I visualize the terrain in my mind’s eye. “That ballista is really open for pegasus and wyvern knights...” Already I’m thinking of Caspar, who commands a battalion of wyvern knights, and of Leonie, whose battalion of pegasus knights is as formidable as her own skills in the sky. Shooting them down will be no easy feat, even as an archer.

“You will have backup assistance,” the professor responds. “Dimitri, you’re heading east towards where the Golden Deer is camped. Sylvain, Dedue, and Dorothea will go with you. Don’t underestimate Claude, he will likely use the terrain to his advantage. Annette, Petra, Ingrid, we are heading west to take care of the rest of the Black Eagles. Doubtless Edelgard will be there. Lysithea, Ashe, Felix, and Bernadetta, you need to take the hill. Felix, make sure nobody touches Bernadetta and Ashe as they arm the ballista. Lysithea, use your range.”

Lysithea grins. “To cast fire and fury down to my deserving enemies?”

The professor grins back. “Just like that. And maybe to help heal anyone if things go wrong.”

I look at Felix, whose eyes narrow into dangerous slits. It is clear he would rather take his own fighting directly to the general commanders of the opposition. He means to say something, to question the professor, but one glance at Dimitri is enough to silence him. Felix purses his lips. He knows just as well as everyone does that if there’s anyone who would want a crack at Edelgard’s skill in battle, it would be Dimitri; and like Felix, he’s being sent elsewhere.

I am relieved that I am not in the same group as Prince Dimitri. This is mostly because I remember the looks Dorothea, Ferdinand, and I shared when we were outside the healing room. Dimitri never explained where he went after bringing Professor Manuela to her office chambers. And from what Professor Byleth had said, Dimitri did not return to fight until the end of it, after the Flame Emperor disappeared.

My paranoia connects dots where I don’t want them to. The thought of Dimitri being the Flame Emperor makes absolutely no sense, but I cannot help but feel there is a connection.

That is when it occurs to me that Felix and I are in the same group. He says nothing as more orders are given, and once the professor and the Faerghus prince set out, so do we.

Felix sets the pace, and Ashe covers us from behind, his bow at his back, axe strapped to his side. He’s surprisingly adept at both, but it is his handaxe that he takes out to thwart the javelin that comes straight toward us.

Already the fighting has begun, and Lysithea’s hands begin to glow with the aura of her mixed magic. I ready my bow, in search of any movement in the sky. The minute I hear the thunder of wings, I swivel towards the pegasus knight, and I loose my arrow upon sight.

It hits the knight’s shield, but I loose again, quickly and without further thought. The second arrow makes contact with chainmail and there is a yelp from one of Leonie’s battalion soldiers. Immediately, I see the sky glow a strange color, and the injured soldier is whisked away from the battlefield. Perks of this being a mock battle: nobody dies.

I sight another target and loose, becoming less my nervous self and more attuned to the battle at hand. We slowly make our way toward the hill, Felix at the front, Lysithea and me in the middle, Ashe at the back.

Felix is a force on the battlefield, and I am unsurprised that he can wield his sword with ease. He is a sword dancer, dodging and weaving, nimble and deadly. He bruises and cuts with control, and I swear he can spend hours doing so. And I can spend hours watching him.

What surprises me is when magic bursts forth from his free hand when a fortress knight comes into view. The swordsman takes the knight down in two magical bursts of lightning, and Lysithea proves an able backup when she dispatches of the second knight, engulfing him in the cover of darkness.

We make it to the ballista in no time. Ashe shoots the archer at the top with his blunted arrow, and the archer is quickly whisked away by the magical light. Felix turns to me and nods. “All yours.”

Ashe and I prepare the ballista with the large, incendiary bolts from our packs. As we do so, I can hear the battle cries ringing from every direction. The Blue Lions, Black Eagles, and Golden Deer are now in the throes of battle, and chaos is everywhere. I swivel the ballista around, searching for a target.

Leonie in the sky, making her way west towards Ingrid. Caspar and Linhardt, back to back as they catch sight of Petra and Annette. Hilda and Lorenz clashing with Dedue and Sylvain. Claude making his way towards Dimitri, Ignatz right behind his leader. In the far distance, at a raised dais, stands Edelgard and Hubert, a formidable duo looking to crush anyone who gets in their way.

Somewhere at the bottom of the hill, soldiers begin clambering up. I aim, take a breath, and pull the switch back on the ballista. I look at the potential targets, find the best location to shoot. I loose the arrow, and the ballista shakes with the after-effects. Below, the ground erupts into flames, and many soldiers are whisked off and out of battle.

Beside me, Felix watches with mild interest. “Impressive.”

I cannot help but blush. It is no light matter, being complimented by Felix.

Anything I mean to say is punctuated by the blast of magic from Lysithea. Ashe shouts a word of warning, and I immediately go back to my line of sight. Ashe and I load another bolt in, and I find another target.

It is like this for some time, up until Claude and Ignatz somehow makes their way undetected. I would say it is almost impossible, but knowing Claude, he  _ always  _ has something up his sleeve. 

Ashe becomes preoccupied with Caspar, who finds his way to the center of the hill. Lysithea involves herself in a game of cat and mouse with Ignatz, and it is Claude who eventually emerges to meet Felix and me head on.

He grins, arms poised to shoot either of us in rapid succession. My eyes bulge, and the scheming Golden Deer leader nods. “Bernadetta, I’m going to ask you to step away from the ballista.”

“She’s not going anywhere,” Felix says, lightning beginning to form at the tip of his fingers.

“Not even if I say ‘please’?” Claude winks.

“You heard me, you snake.” It is close to a growl, what Felix says, and my palms begin to sweat. Any moment now, Claude will render me or Felix ineffective in the battle. I freeze at my spot.

“Bernadetta, go back to your bow,” Felix murmurs so that only I can hear. “When he shoots, make your move.”

I don’t ask any questions after, because Felix bolts toward Claude, and the Golden Deer leader shoots his arrow. Not at me, but at the more threatening of us. At Felix.

Everything after that happens at a rapid pace. Felix manages to parry the first shot, but Claude is just as fast and avoids Felix’s swipe. When magic bursts from Felix’s hand, Claude blocks with his glowing shield, pulls back another arrow, and shoots. This time, Felix is not fast enough to react, and somehow Claude makes a hit.

The swordsman turns to me, face wincing with slight pain from the arrow’s impact, and the warp light takes him out of the field.

Claude has no time to ready another shot, because I’m already close enough for a point-blank volley. I don’t even think about the damage I will cause at that close a range. I loose my arrow.

The Golden Deer leader follows Felix soon after, whisked away by some Church mage flying overhead. I drop my bow, my hands shaking from the close call.

Felix Hugo Fraldarius  _ hates _ to lose, I think to myself. Felix Hugo Fraldarius  _ never  _ loses.

But in this case, he does. To keep me at my location. To ensure that I am unharmed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know, I think I like the idea that the Warp and Rescue white magic becomes really helpful in mock battles. I find I only ever use it when it comes to the Death Knight, but I'm thinking almost every other veteran Church bishop/healer has this ability.
> 
> I really enjoyed writing the battle scene, mostly because Bernie has no choice BUT to interact with other people. I feel like she also really shines in battle, as much as she hates the idea of conflict itself. And yeah, this is a two-parter, because holy Seiros, the plot of FE starts getting super juicy after the events of Wyvern Moon.


	10. Red Wolf Moon, 1180 (Part II)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Academy students take a much needed break, and Bernie gains more insight into both Claude and a cantankerous--but unharmed--swordsman.
> 
> Or that time Claude tries to flirt but gets Felix-blocked.

**RED WOLF MOON, 1180 (Part 2)**

The battle begins to die down, and one by one, each of us is warped back to the Monastery to get treated for our injuries.

Ashe and I suffer little to no damage on the hill. His nose had been bloodied by close contact with Caspar, but easily healed once under Mercedes’ blessed hands. I escaped with relatively no damage, save for the burns I’m going to feel around my arms after spending all that time with bow and arrow.

Dimitri and the professor were the only other Blue Lions who came out of the Battle of the Eagle and Lion (and Deer) unscathed. Dimitri because Dedue took the brunt of the blows, and the professor because...well, she’s the professor.

In the end, the Blue Lions gained its hard-won victory, and the professor gathered us up to talk about a celebratory feast. Granted, she had to wait for _ everyone _to heal, and then not only that, but she also invited all the other houses for this celebration.

Personally, I would have loved nothing more than to take the win and sink onto my bed, to be uninterrupted for days.

Alas, when does Bernie ever get what she wants?

The dining hall that night...well, it is almost worth the agony of being out.

Already, the students are decked in their finery, uniform black and gold and white in their evening outfits. Nobody is dressed in their house colors, because it was agreed that the entire mock battle is not just a celebration of its winners, but one of cooperation between houses.

I like this idea.

I make my way to the back of the hall, my nose gravitating toward the food laid out on the tables. It smells wonderful in the dining hall, of spiced mead and ciders, of cinnamon-sprinkled sweet rolls and towers of caramelized cream puffs. Of fish and meat dishes, of vegetable soup and stir-fried noodles with pineapples in the mix. I could swim in the custards and the pies if it was appropriate.

Lysithea is already at the dessert table stuffing her face with applecakes, and not so far behind is Annette sampling a mug of hot apple cider. I make my way towards them, eyeing a piece of berry custard tart that is calling my name.

As I’m unceremoniously chowing down, I feel a tap on my shoulder, and I turn. I am surprised to see Claude von Riegan smiling down at me, holding two mugs, one stretched out towards me. “Hey Bernadetta!”

“Oh.” I gulp down the rest of my tart. “H...hi, Claude.”

He hands me a drink, and I reflexively accept. The mug warms my fingers, and I close both my hands around it.

“No hard feelings about today,” he begins after I take a sip of his offering. The warmth of the cider cascades down my throat, leaving with it a glowing taste of happiness. “I was trying for a vantage point, you see.”

It takes me a few seconds to figure out what he meant, but the battle comes back easily to me, and I nod. “Oh, I...I didn’t take offense or anything.” It was a mock battle. Why should I have?

“I’m glad! It’s important that I let you know there’s no animosity between us,” he says in his easy grin, the smile always a staple on his handsome features. “I didn’t want you to take it the wrong way, me shooting Felix.”

“Why would I?” I say, confused. The way I saw it, it was hit the most likely to attack, and Felix was _ definitely _the most likely to attack.

Claude shakes his head, takes a sip out of his own mug. “Because you seemed really outraged when you got to me. I admit, that shot you hit me with was a doozy. Had I known how agitated you’d get after downing Fraldarius, I’d have gone straight for you first. Remind me next time to take my chances with Felix than with an angry von Varley. No, don’t freak out! That was a compliment, honest!”

“F...freak out?! I’m...I’m not freaking out!” Lies, Bernie. All lies. “I’m not angry at all! Maybe...maybe I was uh, _ agitated _ as you say. You were going to shoot me next, you know!”

“Fair point,” Claude shrugs. “Just wanted to congratulate you on your reflexes.” He tilted his head down and winked. “I think maybe we should try a little archery competition of our own. Between us, I’d really love to see who’s the better shooter.”

“Obviously it’d be her, you snake,” growls a voice behind me. I stiffen, and I tell myself not to turn around. Don’t turn around, Bernie, just don’t...

But it didn’t matter. I know immediately that it’s Felix. I turn around, just as Claude chuckles. “Fraldarius! I am _ so glad _ you’re healing just fine.”

“No thanks to your haphazard style of shooting,” the swordsman mutters. “Claude.”

The two share a nod, and Claude bows, his grin getting wider by the second. “Good work today. I was just telling Bernadetta here about how well she did right after you were, ah, incapacitated. And that there are absolutely no hard feelings on the matter. It was never personal, you know.”

“Noted. Is that all?”

Claude raises an eyebrow, holds up his mug as though preparing for a toast. “I can take a hint, Felix. Be seeing you around, Bernadetta.” And, as quickly as he arrived, Claude moves on, the cloak on his back swishing in style. I watch him approach Dimitri and the professor, who are having some sort of heated conversation with Hubert. What argument they were having stops the minute Claude von Riegan steps into their circle. What surprises me is that Hubert isn’t beside Edelgard, which is usually the case.

On the side, I eventually spy the future Adrestian emperor with the girl who’d been found with Flayn in Jeritza’s room. I think her name is Monica von Oche. I don’t know much about her or her territory. She is far to the west in the Empire, and she’s...well, she’s a little strange for my taste, always hanging onto Edelgard’s every word and taking her attention away from everyone else.

Not that I am jealous. Edelgard has long stopped speaking to me by this point. I’m still to this point wondering if it’s because she’s become distant in general, or she’s still harboring some annoyance that I switched houses. Should it really matter, though? She knows I’m still a von Varley. She knows I will still return...

Somehow the thought of even thinking the word “home” makes me shiver.

“Was he bothering you?”

It takes me a second to get out of my inner thoughts to remember that Felix is standing behind me. Well, beside me now.

I stare. “What?” I must have been watching Claude’s back for far longer than necessary.

“Was von Riegan bothering you?” Just how in Fodlan is it possible for someone to _ stare _ as intently as Felix can? I feel like he’s staring into my soul. It’s slightly unnerving.

I shake my head. “N...no. Everything’s fine.” Lies, Bernie. All lies.

“Is it?” Felix says, crossing his arms over his chest. “You were about to start flailing a few seconds ago. If I didn’t come to interrupt, I’m sure you would have started your crazy technique again, and Claude would be back at the infirmary.”

“Th...that wasn’t…!” I bluster, almost spilling the rest of my drink on him. He seems to have anticipated it, because he approaches and puts a steadying hand on my wrist to stop it from shaking. “Eeep!”

“Would you stop? I took great pains getting myself into my clothes, and I’m sure you did, too,” he says, glancing at my blouse. I’m still speechless even after he pries the drink from me and puts it on a tray of used mugs. “There. Now we are both unscathed by warm apple...whatever this sweet drink is.”

I take this time to watch him instead. Felix is dressed in more pronounced blacks, the gold buttons and trim around his outfit shining in the light. He cuts an impressive figure, even in his dancer’s slimness, but there’s no denying there’s danger there as well. What I notice most of all is that his sword is nowhere to be found.

“Um...”

“Out with it, Bernadetta.” I detect the slight irritation is back in his voice, and I wince. He sighs. “What is it?” he says more patiently.

I gesture at his side. “You don’t have your sword with you...”

He pats his unadorned belt buckle, looks down. “Ah, yes. One of Sylvain’s not-so-stellar ideas. Insisted my weapon didn’t go with the outfit. I spent a good part of the last hour trying to tell him I was just fine wearing my Academy clothes, but I was overruled.” The growing irritation in his voice is definitely not at me, so I get less anxious.

“So Sylvain talked you into that?” I glance at his clothes again, and he pulls on his collar uncomfortably. I feel almost bad for him, if he didn’t look quite so good. But I don’t.

“No. Ingrid and the rest of the crazy lion’s pride did.” Felix tugs at the stray lock around his bun and tucks it back in. “She had the audacity to bring Annette and _ the boar _into the argument. By that point it was a lost attempt. Besides, I can survive without a sword for the night.”

“You can?” I don’t mean it to be a teasing comment, but he turns red anyway. “I could have sworn you slept with the thing.”

The corners of his mouth twitch, and I can feel a smile coming along. But he tapers it, and I’m left a little disappointed that he manages to control his reaction.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” he says softly, almost as though he didn’t intend for me to hear it. But I do, and it is my turn to blush.

“Besides,” he says hurriedly, a twinkle in his amber eyes, “I’ve got a couple of daggers tucked away in my boots.”

I couldn’t help it. I snort. That breaks the tension. Almost.

Felix gestures at the food and walks around me. He grabs a plate and starts piling food on it. The spices waft towards me, and I try not to wrinkle my nose. Felix does like a lot of chili in his food. All the same, I take his lead and follow him, grabbing a plate and helping myself to some of the dishes on the table.

We plant ourselves on one of the long tables by our friends and begin to eat. Our silence becomes a comfortable one, punctuated by the revelry of the night and the conversation of the table. Once or twice I look up to watch him, only to find that he’s also doing the same thing, and I turn away immediately. It’s getting ridiculous, his effect on me. But I cannot stop my own reaction, now, can I?

Bernie, don’t be stupid. The man is an enigma, and he probably still hates you for almost braining him at the cafe.

Maybe, I think--no, _ hope _\--to myself, maybe he hates me just a little bit less now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Silly Felix, you shouldn't have to worry about Claude. He doesn't have any Bernie supports to talk of!
> 
> This is one of those "calm before the storm" type of chapters. Also, it's to commemorate the fact that wave 3 of FE3H DLCs included shiny black and gold evening outfits that I totally wanted to throw in here, hah!


	11. Ethereal Moon, 1180 (Part I)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bernie celebrates a birthday and spends the month north disposing of bandits.
> 
> Or that time Bernie gets a present and takes part in Felix's paralogue.

**LETTER TO THE ARCHBISHOP**

_ Queen Byleth Eisner Blaiddyd _

_ Fhirdiad, Faerghus, Unified Fodlan _

_ Ethereal Moon _

_ Byleth, _

_ I hope this letter finds you well. _

_ Through sources we both share--namely one in the Fraldarius territory--it has come to my attention that you have sojourned towards the Kingdom capital for the time being. I hope I am not remiss in addressing you in your queen consort title as opposed to your archbishop one. I promise you it is not because I am finding every which way to disrespect Fodlan religion, though we both know my feelings on blind faith. _

_ Frankly, I just think of you more fondly as a queen among her people, a fitting match to the warrior king by your side. Doesn’t that sound more romantic? _

_ Anyway, how is Dimitri, that scoundrel? I’ve been hearing strange, contradictory reports up on my own monarchic hill, and I fear I’m too curious for my own good if I left things alone. I’ve got one source telling me the king is in a tempest, his armies marching north with the fastest Gautier horses to quash any sort of Sreng resistance. I’ve got another source where he’s _ flying _ an army of wyvern knights and not stopping at Sreng, but headed west to Albinea of all places. Another where he’s traveled to Arianhrod to rebuild secret contraptions discovered by his foremost Crest scholars. Not to mention a fourth source saying that he’s actually moved southeast, tearing the countryside apart in search of a lost duke. _

_ My personal favorite is the wyvern rider story. Mostly because him _ flying _ anywhere makes me laugh, and partly because it keeps him away from Almyra. Not that I wouldn’t welcome him with open arms if the lout _ ever _ decides to visit, but you have to admit, an army of Fodlanian wyvern knights would not be easy to explain away as far as my subjects are concerned. _

_ Byleth, you and I both know there is a grain of truth to most of these rumors. Should I be concerned? Do I need to recall the scheme I’d cooked up for His Majesty’s birthday? I promise you it’s nothing harmful, but with Dimitri’s occasional brooding and Dedue’s paranoia over anything _ I _ send over, you never know. _

_ I’ve sent packages through House Goneril for your celebrations during the Ethereal and Guardian Moons. I’ve also dispatched a _ verbal _ missive to Hilda, who I trust will reach Fraldarius territory by the end of the Ethereal Moon to discuss something I also learned through my sources. This one particularly mentions a missing duke. From what I’ve gathered, if that fourth rumor is true, Dimitri does not have far to go. _

_ I haven’t told Fey of Hilda’s reason for her visit in hopes that Fey will be pleasantly surprised, so keep that between us, will you? You know how much I love harboring secrets. _

_ From your king across the mountain, _

_ Claude _

* * *

**ETHEREAL MOON, 1180 **

Can you believe it? Tomas isn’t actually Tomas at all!

Turns out he’s more conniving than Hubert and a much crazier schemer than Claude. Turns out he’s got several more screws loose in his head than, well, than me!

We encounter Tomas down at Remire Village, and oh boy, do I not want to see that place anytime soon. While the villagers were going crazy with some plague-like symptoms (only, the professor and Jeralt think it’s much more than just plague), Tomas decides to tell us all that he’s not actually our old librarian, but someone named Solon.

What really bothers me about this whole situation is that I have no idea how Solon could make Tomas look so...well, so _ real _ . Was he using magic to glamour himself as Tomas? Or, worse, was he _ using Tomas’s corpse _ and wearing it?

Oh goddess, that thought comes to mind and I’m ready to barf.

But we’ll worry about that another time. What I’m more worried about this month is whether or not Professor Byleth is going to make me the representative dancer for the Blue Lions during the White Heron Cup. I hope to Seiros she doesn’t, nope nope nope.

Bernie doesn’t dance. Bernie flails with her arms and legs, and who knows if _ that _ can even be called dancing.

It can’t, right?

It’s also my birthday, and I did such a good job avoiding the subject that I did not expect an invite to tea from the professor. I would have refused, but the professor is a most insistent person, and short of breaking my door down (which Ingrid has already done at least _ once _), she would never stop hounding me if I didn’t go.

Teatime is painless and uneventful, though I am grateful that Professor Byleth didn’t make it into some grand celebration. I’ve had enough of that for the month, and we’ll be having a grand ball by the end of it. Plus, I think I share the same month as Dimitri’s birthday. The Blue Lions has enough to worry about, looks like.

When I return to my room, I am surprised by the large stuffed bear perched on one of my chairs. It has a blue ribbon tied around its neck, and sapphire gemstone eyes. The edges of the bear seems a little faded, as though it had already been through several washings, but the dark velvet coat still shines.

Somehow, someone got into my room again to drop this off, and honestly, I would be horrified by this blatant disregard for Bernie’s personal space, but I’m not.

Instead, I squeal in delight. It’s just. Too. Cute!

I take the soft, cuddly bear in my arms, and turn it around, in search of the kind soul who left it behind. Clearly the kind soul knew my birthday, but not many people did. Was it Ingrid? Annette? They knew I liked—

I spy the note as it flutters to the floor. I gently put the bear on my bed, pick up the note, and open it. Inside, scrawled in neat black writing:

_ “You seem to like cute things. Thankfully I have not had any use for Dima the Bear in over a decade. I have a feeling you will give him a better home. Happy birthday. - Felix _

_ P.S. Don’t you _ ever _ , on pain of murder, poison, or dismemberment, mention this to Dimitri or Sylvain. _ Ever _ . If you do, though, I’ll soundly deny it. _

There really is nothing else to say after that.

* * *

Bandits. Why are there so many bandits in Fodlan?

The subject of bandits come up again, just as the professor and I are having tea. Neither of us brings it up, though, and mostly it’s people around us in the garden cafe who are speaking about bandits in the north. Talks of villages being set upon by those hoping to plunder wares.

I know there’s a strategic logic to attacking villages, but honestly, I still think bandits are stupid for doing so. The last village--Remire--had very little to give to its own people, let alone provide for freeloading _ bandits _.

The professor is riveted, though, but like the professor she is, it is hard to read what she thinks about the overall conversation around us. We sit and listen, the professor lost in her own thoughts, and me lost in mine.

But of course, that quiet between us is broken when a third party comes to interrupt. 

“There you are. I was looking for you.” Felix.

Professor Byleth and I both turn to the voice. Thankfully he is looking at the professor, because I pretty much look at him with bulging eyes and an open mouth. I’m ready to bolt.

“I need a favor,” he says after some hesitation.

“If you want to spar, can it wait a bit?”

Felix frowns. “I...no. This is something of an unusual favor.”

I cannot help but look at Professor Byleth as he says this. The professor and I share a glance, and we almost miss the look of worry in Felix’s eyes. But it is there, and we know immediately that whatever favor this is, it is something Professor Byleth would never refuse. Not from Felix, who doesn’t ask for help.

“My father sent a messenger. He wants me to return to Fraldarius territory.” He scoffs at the questioning look in the professor’s face. “Rodrigue Achille Fraldarius, the highest ranking member of the Faerghus nobility. But about the favor. You’re familiar with the Tragedy of Duscur, I presume?”

“Um.” Of course, Bernie, way to interrupt a tenuous moment. I look down, but it’s too late to back out now. “That’s where...that’s where Dimitri lost his parents, isn’t it? Where you lost your…”

It is no secret anymore, that more than one loved one was lost in Duscur. It is written in Dedue’s caution towards everyone, in Dimitri’s subtle black moods. It is in Ingrid’s wistful stares at the horizon, her recounting of a man she’d once pledged her heart to. The same man whose life shattered the entire Fraldarius household.

Felix never shows the strain of having lost a brother in the Tragedy of Duscur, never for a moment allows that weakness out into the open. But after watching him for some time, it becomes evident in the way he trains. As if, in some way, training his mind, body, and spirit away drowns out any other thoughts of sadness in his head.

The swordsman gives nothing away, though the narrowing of his eyes is indication enough that he is still hurting from that question, even years later. “Yes and no. The assassination of the king and queen happened before what happened at Duscur, but I suppose you can connect both events and call the whole thing that, yes.”

“After the king’s death, public order disintegrated. Bandits continue to raid villages across the Kingdom, including those within Fraldarius territory. My father says he needs my help driving the bandits away.”

“And you want me to join?” The professor already senses the request on his lips. Though, admittedly, it is not a difficult one to guess.

“Precisely.” Again he hesitates. “Perhaps I shouldn’t pull you into this...it stems from my family’s failure to secure the region. But honestly…”

He looks at me for a brief moment. I know this because I am still watching him, and this time, there’s a spark in his eyes that I catch. I do not know what it means. He returns his gaze at Professor Byleth. “I want to see you in action. I never tire of watching you fight.”

Professor Byleth raises an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“And it’ll be much more interesting for you than the training ground,” he finishes with an over-dramatic shrug. “Or maybe this task--driving off bandits--seems dull to a former mercenary?”

The challenging tone is definitely enough for the professor to mobilize herself, and she quickly makes her excuses, apologizing that our teatime is cut short. I tell her I do not mind, because I so very much want to be back in my room anyway.

Except I don’t return to my room when Professor Byleth finally walks away to prepare her class for an excursion north. I remain seated, with Felix watching me intently.

He clears his throat. “I meant it, Bernadetta.”

I try not to squeak. “Wh...what do you mean?”

“To see you in action.”

He does not explain further. He bows politely, turns around, and walks away.

It is only when I am finally back in my room that I groan with resignation. Because of course I’m going to head north with the rest of the class. Stupid, foolish, slightly smitten Bernie.

* * *

I think I know why Felix asks for the rest of the Blue Lions to come to his aid. It’s because somehow he has it in his mind that we can stop him from doing stupid things.

But he does _ stupid _things anyway.

Like charge head on against bandits just to show his old man that he’s capable of handling everything in his path.

And what does stupid, unthinking Bernie do?

_ Follow _the goddess-cursed idiot swordsman.

To be fair to his thinking, he did warn us that there are villagers trapped by the bandits. Part of his rushing is definitely to save his people, and that is why I don’t hesitate to go after them as well.

It proves a dangerous undertaking, because just how many of these attackers are assassins?! Even Petra has her work cut out for her, fighting a contingent always looking out to knife her in the back.

It doesn’t help that Felix refuses traveling with his own battalion. As adept as he is at leading an army, he refuses to be bogged down by men surrounding him. So when Professor Byleth assigns a battalion to me, I refuse them in turn. Instead, I ask for a single horse.

“What in Fodlan do you need with _ that _?” Felix asks as I struggle to get on one of the bigger steeds provided to us.

It is Ferdinand and Sylvain who grin, as they give me raised fists in acknowledgement. “That’s our girl!” Sylvain says, and I giggle nervously.

To make up for spraining his wrist, I had agreed--after some painstaking conversations through a wooden door--to take horseback riding lessons with Ferdinand. At the time, I found it beneficial because the professor kept insisting that I train myself with shooting arrows as I move, and what better way than on a horse, right?

Sylvain discovered us some days later as I struggled with holding onto the horse with my thighs around the saddle, while training my bow at a target. Much to my consternation, he also began to give pointers, even going so far as giving me basic directions in holding a lance on horseback.

“Lances are heavier, but will help you with endurance training, I promise you,” he said. “You’ll be carrying heavier things in no time at all!”

I will admit I was resistant--_ very _resistant--at first, but I found the training just a little bit exhilarating.

Finally on the horse, I canter it towards Felix and try to smile. I’m pretty sure the smile comes off like I have a toothache, because I’m _ nervous _ , not _ happy _ about the situation. “We have villagers to save, don’t we? What does it matter how?”

That is how I manage to make my way through the chaos of bandits and assassins and towards the stupid swordsman.

Felix--almost indestructible Felix--bites off more than he can chew. He finds two children being menaced by a group of assassins, and to protect them, he puts himself in the assassins’ line of sight. From a distance, I can see that he is trying to shoo the children away to a safer location so that he does not have to worry about them, but they are insistent on sticking to his side. This becomes problematic to someone who revels in fighting unhindered.

It could also prove fatal to all three if nothing is done about it.

So I do what my days of training with Ferdinand and Sylvain have taught me. I grab my bow and begin shooting at a distance. Once I urge my horse closer, I switch out of the bow and arrow and grab the short spears strapped to the side of the horse.

I don’t think about the consequences. I don’t think about how many spears I have. I just throw and throw, because all I can think about is the stupid man with two children grabbing at him and holding on for safety.

“Bernadetta!” He yells, finally free of the children, who’d run away to my direction once I clear the path. I hop off the horse and head toward him. Without anyone to worry about, Felix unleashes his own flurry of attacks, dispatching the remaining assassins with ease.

I reach him, my bow and quiver of arrows the only weapons I take with me now. I turn from him to view the area, bow out and ready to fire.

“The horse proved useful,” he grumbles. “Thanks for the assist.”

Protecting the rest of the village gets easier afterwards, with Professor Byleth and the Blue Lions continuing their onslaught. Felix and I make our way back to his father, and the two exchange heated words. Felix storms off, and I watch him go. When I turn to see Rodrigue Achille Fraldarius, he is glancing forlornly at his son, then speaks briefly to the professor.

I find it is another one of Felix’s coping mechanisms, pushing his father away in anger. For what, I can never really fathom. But deep down, there is an understanding I have of how Felix feels.

Fathers are complicated mazes to find our way around. And in our case, perhaps it is best just to avoid them altogether.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The month of the Ethereal Moon gets another two-parter treatment, because, well, I realize this chapter got loooong and I haven't even gotten to the White Heron Cup yet, on top of the ball and the Goddess Tower (because you KNOW I'm totally dragging Bernie and Felix up there!).
> 
> I also decided, like a sillyface, to add Felix's Paralogue, "True Chivalry" in the same month. It just seemed the right time to do so. And as disdainful as Felix is to his father (though we totes know he kind of loves him in a way), I kind of have a soft spot for Rodrigue, and really wished we got to play him as a Blue Lions recruit (but alas...plot-wise, it wasn't meant to be!).


	12. Ethereal Moon, 1180 (Part II)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bernie makes a five-year promise and escapes the ball by climbing a tower.
> 
> Or that time at the White Heron Cup and the Goddess Tower.

**ETHEREAL MOON, 1180**

Annette really makes for a graceful dancer! And certainly better her than Bernie, yep!

I think Dimitri and I shared the same sentiment when Professor Byleth finally picked our house representative for the White Heron Cup. We were definitely happy that we had someone who could possibly outdance Hilda and Edelgard. There was Dorothea, but strangely enough the professor did not pick her. I think she knew Dorothea was a shoo-in, with her having been a trained performer back before her Academy days, and I suppose it’s almost cheating in a way...

Mostly, Dimitri and I were just really,  _ really  _ relieved that she didn’t come around and make us dance.

To my surprise, Hilda doesn’t participate. It is Claude who comes to compete. My guess is it’s to prove something, but Lorenz scoffs and admits to us that it’s because Claude lost a bet to Hilda and now he’s paying the consequences.

The man does know how to move, though Edelgard worried us a bit, too. In the end, Annette got the votes.

The rest of the month passes quickly, and before I know it, it’s time for the ball.

Goddess, help me on this day of days. It becomes all flurry and fancy free. Annette drags me across the student quarters and up the stairs to Hilda’s room, insisting that everyone is going to be there. I try to protest, but then Ingrid joins Annette in coaxing me out of my room, and I definitely don’t want a repeat of Ingrid breaking my door down.

So unfortunately, I go. But not before Annette ransacks my wardrobe in search of something “pretty” to wear to the dance.

“I...can you stop now?” I whine, not even caring that they can hear my voice squeak to an irritatingly high level. “I can dress myself!”

“We know that, Bernadetta,” Ingrid says, frowning at Annette, who chooses to ignore my request. “Annette, aren’t you being a little overzealous?”

“There’s no turning back now, Ingrid,” Annette says cheerily. I think I liked her better when she was too busy studying and not glowing over her dancing win. “Besides,  _ I  _ know she’ll want to look especially good tonight!”

I don’t understand her subtle teasing. I really don’t. I tell her this, and she stops to turn around. She grins. “ _ I _ happen to know  _ someone  _ has a crush, and remember the rumors about the Goddess Tower and--”

“S...stop. Right now. Right there.” I blame  _ Dorothea  _ for this. She finds romance and cuteness in  _ everything _ . “Don’t even start this. I am  _ not  _ sneaking to the Goddess Tower tonight or any other night!”

Annette loses her grin and pouts. “Aww, Bernie, but--”

“Let’s just go to Hilda’s room, please,” I say, back to pleading. Before she can even protest, I stalk off, leaving Annette objecting behind me and Ingrid laughing. I don’t think I’ve heard Ingrid laugh much, but clearly something I did made her giddy. I walk faster just to try and ignore both of them.

We make it to Hilda’s room, and, as Annette said, almost  _ all  _ the girls I know are there. Dorothea and Hilda are chatting about the best ways to style their hair with Flayn looking on with great interest, Marianne is sitting nervously in the room, examining a bottle of perfume. Lysithea is scoffing at a purple scarf that Mercedes tries to put on her. Petra and Leonie seems to have abandoned even trying to get ready for the dance, choosing instead to discuss hunting techniques on the side.

Even Edelgard and Monica are there, though once again, Monica is taking up a lot of Edelgard’s attention away from the other girls. I admire Edelgard’s calm expression and wonder at the patience she harbors with this new-but-not-so-new student.

I try to fathom how it’s possible that all of us can even fit in the room, but we do.

When I enter, Hilda comes to greet me, and she brightens when Annette and Ingrid arrive at my heels. “Oh great! Now it’s really a girls’ party! Welcome to Hilda’s home away from home!”

I’ve never seen so many frills and decorations. I think about how Hilda is in battle--standoffish, sure, but put her up against an enemy and she’s  _ ridiculously strong  _ with an axe. It’s scary how strong. I try to reconcile that thought with the supremely girlish Hilda standing in front of me, worrying about what scent to wear and which boy to try to woo tonight.

It’s mind boggling how weird both Hildas are.

But in the back of my head, sometimes I am a little jealous that she  _ can  _ be both things. I hear my father criticizing me in my head, and I almost back out of the room, if not for Ingrid firmly placing her hand on my shoulder, knowing I might bolt any second. She’s right, of course.

So instead, I sit by Marianne, who looks just as out of place in the room as I do.

I wish I could say I got much out of that time, but all they did in the end was reinforce my need to pray to the goddess.

Oh Sothis, seriously,  _ help me  _ on this day of days.

* * *

Professor Byleth gathers the Blue Lions around her before the ball begins. Even the excitement of the ball reaches the professors, and Professor Byleth is no exception to that rule.

“This is the only ball of the year, and I see why. Everyone is absurdly excited…” Dimitri says, a little unsurely.

Dedue picks up on his prince’s mood. “Your Highness, you sound so detached. We are all encouraged to enjoy the ball tomorrow.”

“Right you are. What a burden...”

I want to tell Dimitri then and there that I totally get where he’s coming from. I’m not a big fan of balls, either. Probably for different reasons...

“Huh. I never thought we’d see eye to eye, but I agree,” Felix says. “I’d rather be swinging my blade than wasting my time with some girl at a ball.”

Ingrid rolls her eyes at this, while Petra shakes her head. “It is not all girls who will be dancing, Felix! What if you will be wanting to dance with some boy at a ball?”

There is a long and awkward pause after that statement, and Petra looks around, confused. Felix grits his teeth. “No,” he says simply.

Sylvain, however, laughs. He continues to laugh to a point where he sheds a tear, and he slaps Felix on the back. “Oh come on, Felix! Your Highness! You’re joking, right?  _ This  _ is our chance to dance with  _ all of the ladies _ of the academy to our heart’s content. All of the gentlemen, too,” he winks at Ferdinand, who actually blushes.

“Yes, well, the boy I have in mind isn’t one for dancing,” Ferdinand mumbles. “Or mingling.”

“Oh for the goddess’ sake, Ferdi,” Dorothea says, patting him on the back. “Just lure him out for coffee. That  _ always  _ works with Hubie.”

“Dorothea!” I didn’t think Ferdinand could get any redder, but he does.

Sylvain continues to laugh. “And to think, Felix, you wish to throw away the best day of the whole year for sword practice?  _ Insanity _ , I tell you!”

The somber mood between Felix and Dimitri doesn’t stop many of the other house students from voicing their opinion. Ashe grins up at Sylvain. “I’m pretty excited about the ball, myself. It’s not like we get to do things like this very often.”

“Yes, Ashe, true!” Sylvain is in his element now. He is waving his hands in a grand gesture. “In fact, I’m gonna do  _ you  _ a favor and give you a crash course in chatting up girls. By tonight, you’ll be an expert!”

“A...actually...I’d, uh, much prefer if someone could just teach me  _ how  _ to dance…”

“Don’t worry about the dancing part, Ashe!” Annette replies, her cheeks pinkish. Somehow I think she’s got a boy already in mind to dance with. And that boy is the one she’s planning to teach. “I can teach you that, easy!”

“And will someone tell Ingrid that the ball warrants at least a tiny bit of makeup?” Mercedes quips. “Juuuust a smidge? You, too, Bernadetta! You’ve tried to avoid us all day...”

“I...I’ll think about it,” Ingrid and I both say in unison. In Hilda’s room, she and I stood at a united front where makeup was concerned, though Ingrid did eventually abandon me when it came to fragrances.

Me? I ended up marveling at Hilda’s patchwork and embroidery. I can’t help it. I  _ do  _ have hobbies as well.

“Frankly, you’re all prioritizing this wrong,” Lysithea speaks up, still sitting at the table. She looks ready for a dance, all frills and pretty scarves and just about everything Hilda shoved at her. She does look adorable, though. “You go to the dance for the  _ food. _ I bet the cook has planned something magnificent!”

Dimitri lets out a chuckle. “You know, there’s no telling where life will take us after we leave here. If only we could find a way to come together again, just like this…”

“A fine notion, Your Highness. Perhaps five years from now?” Dedue says, smiling. Only Dimitri can make Dedue smile these days. I don’t blame him, especially after what Felix said about the Tragedy of Duscur after our trip north.

Dimitri’s eyes light up. “Five years from now? Ah! That’s when Garreg Mach Monastery will be holding its millennium festival.”

Ingrid chuckles. “By then we’ll be addressing Your Highness as Your Majesty instead!”

I know the prospect isn’t new, but the fact that Dimitri and Edelgard are going to be king and emperor one day still jars me. I’ve only just started getting used to addressing Dimitri  _ as  _ Dimitri...but to think that in five years’ time I will be calling him His Majesty. It’s...a strange thought.

The thought sobers Sylvain up, and that surprises me most. “That’s right. I suppose we all know it’s coming, but by then you’ll be far removed from us.”

The future king of Faerghus shakes his head. “Come now. You know me better than that. My title may change, but I won’t. Besides, five years from now, you’ll all have your own stuffy positions to contend with.”

Now  _ that  _ thought gives me shivers. Felix notices, because he narrows his eyes.

I do not like thinking about going back to Varley. I do not like thinking about having my father tell me I’m not good enough to run the household. He’ll find ways to tell me I’m not perfect, no good, not even worth his time to teach.

It jars me now that between being a knight for a king or being the lady of the household, I would choose the former in a heartbeat. Ingrid may be reluctant to leave Galatea and become a full fledged knight, but if given the chance, I might go the opposite way.

The only problem is I don’t think I’m good enough to be a knight, either.

“The millennium festival does give us a perfect excuse to return here,” Dimitri suggests.

“A reunion! That sounds fun. I wouldn’t miss it for the world!” Annette says.

Most of the house follows her response, and before I know it, I’m promising the same, as is Professor Byleth. There is no going around it. As much as I like being in solitude...there is something about the Blue Lions house that makes me think I could stay friends with everyone here.

And maybe, just maybe, that’s okay in the end.

* * *

There’s really only so much dancing and socializing before even I want to go and disappear into a small space and stay there in solitude forever.

I think Annette is right about me sneaking off into the Goddess Tower. Just to get away from all the noise and the craziness.

So I do go to the Goddess Tower in the end. I don’t tell anyone at the dance. I just slink away and disappear. Most of the students are busy watching Dimitri and Edelgard start the dance with their respective partners--students from different houses who’d bravely asked them before the music began. Before I leave, I glimpse Claude approaching the professor. I don’t bother to look at all the others pairing up (though I do send a heartfelt wish that Ferdinand does get  _ his  _ dance), because honestly, I don’t care.

The Goddess Tower is unlocked and unguarded. The one guard that is assigned to the tower is busy having a conversation with a pretty girl dressed in a pale blue gown. By the way she giggles, I know she is flirting with him, and I hope to the goddess that the guard doesn’t get distracted enough to abandon his post and head to the Goddess Tower himself, pretty girl in tow.

I stick to the shadows, making sure not to be visible to either guard or girl. I open the door to the tower, and slowly close it shut. The door fully muffles my footsteps, so I move on and head towards the stairs.

The quiet echoing of my feet hitting the stone steps is oddly comforting, and I revel in the silence and solitude that the tower provides me. My room is nice to stay in all the time, but in this case, the fresh, cold air and the view from above is definitely a good change of pace.

When I make it to the top, I move towards the balcony, and I gasp as I watch the sky.

Stars and stars and stars. Far as the eye can see, shining so brightly that I think the goddess  _ is  _ watching over us and taking care to make the night magical. It is such a beautiful view that I get lost in the moment, and I lean back onto the wall just to watch the night sky.

I don’t notice the footsteps until it falters, and I stiffen. Frozen on the spot, I turn, peeking my head towards the inside of the tower. A shadowy figure looms before me, its cloak billowing in the chilly air.

“P...please don’t be a ghost,” I say softly, though the words carry and echo into the empty chamber. “Oh, you’re a ghost, aren’t you? Oh Seiros, I knew it was a bad idea to be in here. Ghosts eat your flesh, and all anybody’s going to find of poor, silly Bernie is her bones…”

“Bernadetta, it’s me.”

“And they probably won’t even recognize it anyway,” I continue to stammer, barely hearing the familiarly exasperated tone that is a particular Blue Lions swordsman. “Especially because nobody will notice I’m  _ gone _ , and how could they, Bernie, when you lock yourself in your room so much!”

“ _ Bernadetta _ .” Felix’s body emerges from the darkness, and it takes him joining me by the balcony that I eventually stop to look.

“So it’s nobody’s fault but your--oh!” I don’t know at this point whether to be relieved or sorry that it wasn’t actually a ghost that came to the tower. “Felix. H...hi! What are you doing here?”

“Huh,” Felix muses. “I came to get some peace and quiet.”

“Oh. Uh. M...me too.”

He stands there, and the silence--which should have been awkward and strange--is actually comfortable for a time. It does become cold, and I shiver. He looks down at me, but makes no other movement. “Have you heard the legend of the Goddess Tower? That if you make a pledge, it will be fulfilled?”

“I...yes.” With Annette telling the story, I know it too well. It’s a grand story, and for a time, I did wish just to stay up here, secluded, with a nice boy in tow. But…

I did not expect that boy to be Felix, that’s for sure.

“Childish, I know,” Felix continues, gazing back out at the open air and the stars. “But if it were true...I pledge someday, I will surpass the greatest swordsman out there. I will surpass the professor. I will make her taste defeat one day!”

Of course he does. Because that’s the kind of thing Felix  _ would  _ make a pledge about. “That’s...your pledge to the goddess?”

He turns to me, a frown on his face, a look I cannot decipher. “What would you rather have me pledge? For a passionate affair? Love and romance? Those are things I’ve spent my  _ whole life  _ avoiding.”

“Why?” It’s a conversation I don’t think I’d have ever broached, but Felix is worked up, and I’m just too darn  _ curious _ about it now. “Why waste all that effort avoiding romance?”

“Because, Bernadetta, they’re  _ distractions _ .” He throws back his cloak and pats his sword. “Blades, blood, and battle. That’s what I’m made of and nothing else.”

“That’s...fairly limited,” I blurt out and immediately regret it.

He raises an eyebrow. “Oh? Coming from you, that’s a surprise. Sometimes, I think you have the right idea, about closing yourself off to the world. If I’m limited, what does that make you?”

My cheeks heat up. I should cower, should agree.  _ Of course  _ I’m limited. I’ve been told I’m good for nothing for  _ years _ . And it is perhaps because of this that I lose my patience. I accept my limitations, and I know I am good for nothing at times, but Felix does  _ not _ get to tell me that. Never him. “You know nothing about me, Felix Hugo Fraldarius.”

I say it like a hiss, and he takes a step back, incredulity changing to surprise to...the look he has when he’s engaging in combat. Alive, riveted. He’s looking to pick a fight, and well, so am I, it seems.

“Do I not? Bernadetta, you become transparent at times. You want to be alone, you don’t like people. Every time  _ I  _ come to approach, you become a deer ready to bolt at a moment’s notice. I’m honestly surprised you’re still here talking to  _ me _ .”

“We all have our quirks,” I snap. “Mine happens to be to stay in my room and keep myself in seclusion. Haven’t you seen the type of world we live in? It’s scary out there. There’s always fighting, always people warring with each other. There’s always death. The archbishop wants heretics dead, the people of Faerghus want those of Duscur dead, the  _ bandits _ want villagers dead, my  _ father _ \--”

My father wants me dead. I’ve said too much, so I stop, take a deep breath.

“Your father?” he asks in a soft voice. Whatever argument he begins to say comes up short, and he rubs his forehead, sighing. “You...it hasn’t been easy for you at home, has it? With your father.”

I look away. I want the stars to swallow me whole. I want no one there but me. I want it to go back to before Felix interrupted my silence.

But I cannot turn back time. So I stare elsewhere and try to ignore the swordsman beside me.

“You want to add to that death, too,” I say finally. He does not respond back, only looks away, and we both once again stand in silence.

For a time, he does not bother me, and we look at the stars, side by side. Almost as though…

Felix lets out a breath. “If someone saw us,” there is laughter in his voice, “this may look like an amorous meeting. You’ll have to settle for being mistaken as my lover.”

“Whaa--”

Warmth envelops me, and I realize he’s put the cloak he’s wearing over my shivering state. “This might make things worse in the long run, rumors and all,” he says, stepping back, “but neither you nor I really care so much about those, do we?”

“Felix--”

“It’s time I went back to training. Try not to catch a cold up here. I’d hate for such an...interesting person to be out of commission. Who’ll shoot my enemies down otherwise? Goodbye, Bernadetta.”

I stop shivering. I tell myself that the warmth spreading over me has everything to do with the cloak and nothing else.

Nothing else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this one is a massive update which took me around two days to write with my silly teacher schedule. It'll probably take me a day or two to get the next bits up.
> 
> I may have gotten carried away with setting up the Millennium Festival and having that conversation between Bernie and Felix in the Goddess Tower. But I mean...FELIX WHY YOU SO CALLOUS, MAN?! I love him, the little tsun-tsun that he is.
> 
> Also, when I played the Black Eagles route, I had intended Ferdi and Dorothea to get together, but the Hubert-Ferdinand supports were effing amazing and I love the idea of those two together. Even though, you know...that doesn't bode well for post timeskip, considering I've decided to recruit Ferdi into the Blue Lions for this story...
> 
> Okay, now I'm crying inside. #sorrynotsorry


	13. Guardian Moon, 1181

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Monastery mourns and Bernie brings a gift.
> 
> Or that time Bernie actually is found outside her room to pay respects in a graveyard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew! I'd gone a couple of days without having written anything, and I felt a little empty inside. Here's another installment! Less action this time, but as usual, things are brewing in the north.

**LETTER TO THE ARCHBISHOP**

_ Archbishop Byleth Eisner Blaiddyd _

_ Garreg Mach Monastery, Unified Fodlan _

_ Pegasus Moon _

_ To Her Esteemed Archbishop, _

_ How dare you, Archbishop! I _ know _ my father-in-law conspired with you about Hilda’s coming to Fraldarius! Do you know how much panic I had been trying to ensure that my accommodations were at the utmost quality before the head of House Goneril came calling?! _

_ Luckily, Curan had been told ahead of time and had taken care of the important details. Hilda is an asset and a wonderful dignitary to host, but sometimes she does tend to be, well, _ trying _ . Especially when it comes to her needs and wants. Please try to inform me next time one of Claude’s old friends is visiting. _ Please _ . _

_ I don’t know if my father-in-law also told you of her purpose in visiting, but we might have a bit of a breakthrough in my father’s disappearance. _

_ My mother, while she’d been sequestered at Varley between 1181 and 1185, had apparently done copious research on Duscur’s history and people. I know, this seems strange, considering the tragedy itself and the entire situation had since pre-dated any of her journal entries. It seems strange mostly because it really had nothing to do with her house or family. _

_ However, mentions of these notes creep up once in a while in her journals. They are subtle mentions, but clear enough to me that the subject interested her, and she made it a personal mission to collect as many accounts as she could about the area. _

_ She may have spoken to Dedue on the matter, though I cannot be too sure. In her journals, she was always so wary of the Duscur survivor, and as far as I can remember, I do not think she’s ever actually _ had _ any friends from Duscur, save Dedue. How she managed to compile notes and stories of the Duscur region--now the Kleiman region, I believe--is beyond me. _

_ Whatever the case, Duscur’s history was a personal mission of my mother’s. Yet, for all my searching in mother’s old rooms and the libraries we have here in Fraldarius, I cannot find any journal pertaining to her private works. She was very protective over her research, but she never kept anything from father or me. Something tells me she may have hidden the notes elsewhere. _

_ And what better place than her old home region? As I said, she’d been living in seclusion in Varley a better part of five years during the Unification War. She avoided contact with most people by that point, though I wonder if she sent letters? Those were definitely her favorite ways of communication. _

_ It goes to stand, then, that my father might have headed south to verify the existence of these notes. As you are aware, the people of Duscur and the people of Faerghus have been at an uneasy truce, and though most of us now co-exist with the survivors and their kin, the past can’t be erased. After all, the Tragedy changed everything for Father, and perhaps this is his way of closure. Knowing him, he’d definitely be interested in mother’s notes, and knowing her, she certainly hid them from him to prevent further distractions. You have to admit, she did get quite anxious every time Father left in service to Uncle Dimi. But she would never stop him from doing his duty. Their relationship was strange like that. _

_ How Hilda knows all this is beyond me. But then again, she and my father-in-law have always had a highly effective information system. Are you sure you or Uncle Dimi are not interested in their services? Probably not, considering that could blow up politically, but it’s a thought. _

_ I have sent a letter to both Dedue in Fhirdiad for confirmation of my theories, though I am at a loss for who to petition to gain access to Varley’s old libraries and grounds. Since the area is now part of the Church, it stands to reason you might have a say in the matter, wouldn’t you, Aunt By? _

_ Please advise. I hope to head south once I’ve settled matters here. _

_ All my love, _

_ Felicity Glenn Fraldarius, Duchess _

_ Fraldarius Territory, Faerghus, Unified Fodlan _

_ P.S. Apologies for my previous agitation. I don’t mean to yell at the Archbishop. As a token of continued fealty, I send you packages of Almyran Pine Needles, as promised. As thanks for her delivered information, I’ve sent Hilda off with a shipment of Leicester Cortania for Claude and an assorted box of rose and mint tea for the Lady Goneril. Let it be said that the Duchess of Fraldarius is anything but ungrateful. _

* * *

**GUARDIAN MOON, 1181**

It’s difficult to think of myself with the tragedy that struck the Blue Lions at the end of last month.

I’ve still yet to sort through my feelings after Felix and the Goddess Tower, but more important matters are at hand, and honestly, as Flayn would say in these situations, “We’ve got rarer fish to find.” Or something like that. I’m not actually sure Flayn says this, but it wouldn’t be a far stretch from the truth.

We lost Jeralt Eisner a few days after the winter ball. I wish I could say it was due to accident, but Jeralt was a formidable Knight of Seiros, and has been a famous one even after he left and came back.

He was also Professor Byleth’s father.

Needless to say, the professor is beside herself with grief. I was not there to help her or Jeralt to save the students at the abandoned chapel, and now I wonder if I could have done something to help prevent the event from happening.

Probably not, Bernie. If Professor Byleth could not stop her own father from dying, I would be far from helpful in that case.

The least I can do now is to place my flowers at Jeralt’s grave.

It is a difficult thing for me, to be out so often, but I do it to cultivate the flowers in the garden. I snip out the best pieces and arrange them in a bouquet. Before I tie them up in ribbon, I spy Sylvain and Ingrid heading inside the greenhouse. I almost duck myself into a corner to try to avoid them, but stand ground. No use anyway, silly Bernie, Sylvain’s already seen me.

“Hey, Bernadetta.” He tries to end my name in a note of brevity, but even Sylvain is tired this month. We all of it feel the loss of Jeralt in the Blue Lions House, especially when Professor Byleth has been aimlessly wandering the monastery in a daze. Most of her lectures have been half-heartedly given, and not even Dimitri can break her out of her mourning. Lysithea wrinkles her nose with disapproval, but she doesn’t have the heart to suggest to the professor that it might be better just to rest for the month.

“Hi, Sylvain, Ingrid,” I say, looking anywhere but at them. “What are you doing in here? Is it your turn to care for the plants?”

“It’s mine,” Ingrid says gently. “Though honestly, Sylvain and I are here to do the same thing you’re doing.”

“We’re going to see if we can gather our own flowers for Jeralt,” Sylvain says. He runs a hand through his hair and looks at the flowers I’ve already gathered. “Though by the looks of it, I don’t know if I could match your gift. Those are beautiful.”

I smile. “I...I’ve been cultivating these since Wyvern Moon. Well, Marianne helped out a few times. And--well, what does it matter whose gift is better anyway? I think Jeralt will…” I try not to think about the fact that we can’t really ask Jeralt anymore. “I think he would have loved them all.”

Sylvain beams at me, and a little bit of his usual self returns to color his smile. “Trust you to have the right things to say, Bernadetta.”

“Do you want to walk with us to the grave?” Ingrid asks. “We’re headed there as well. Just need to get some flowers.”

“Ah, well.” I try not to fidget. It’s already taking me a considerable amount of effort being outside for this long. To have too much company is, well...it’s still something I truly need to work on. I shake my head. “I think I’ll go now. I’m, um…”

But Sylvain understands the look I’m making, and he nods. “No worries. We might take a bit longer here anyway. See ya later, Bernadetta!”

“Uh, bye!”

I don’t hurry out of the greenhouse per se, but I don’t tarry either. By the time I get out and nobody is looking to ambush or talk to me, I head over to the other side of the monastery.

Jeralt does not have his own grave. I wonder briefly if the grave he shares is the professor’s mother. It is something of a mystery, Professor Byleth’s parentage, and I’d heard Leonie on occasion voicing the question of Jeralt being the professor’s father. Still, it is something that is definitely not my business, so I don’t examine the grave further. I just place the flowers down and offer my own prayers to the goddess.

“Those are lovely.”

I stiffen. Why is it that I always freeze up when I hear his voice now?

“Th...thanks.” At least this time I don’t turn around.

“You’ve come to pay your respects, too.” It is not posed as a question, so I don’t answer it. I continue to bow my head over the grave.

Felix walks forward and kneels over the grave, placing his own gift on the stone surface. An ornate sword, broken in half, the two pieces creating a whole. He arranges the two pieces apart before standing up, and brushing his pants. He catches my curious stare.

“Jeralt Reus Eisner,” he says by way of explanation, “was a legendary name in my father’s time. He often talked about Jeralt, and he’s hinted more than once that the man had been a minor noble for a time before he took on the mantle of Knight of Seiros. He’s the Blade Breaker.”

Ah, hence the broken sword. “That...is perfect,” I say, truly at a loss for words. For some reason, I think it’s a beautiful gesture.

He snorts. “You sound surprised.”

“I--do I? Did I squeak? Was it wrong to be surprise?” I fidget, press my fingers together. “So--sorry, sorry!”

“Stop, Bernadetta,” he says, placing a hand on my shoulder. “It wasn’t an accusation of any kind. I just...you seemed surprised. You don’t expect me to be thoughtful, I suppose.”

“I…”

Felix doesn’t drop his hand from my shoulder. I don’t know if I want him to, to be honest. “It’s just--it didn’t occur to me that you knew so much about the man. But come to think of it, with you loving swords and, uh, battles so much, it really shouldn’t have been a surprise, should it? Ahaha, right. Blade Breaker. Of course you’d know him like that. He’s earned a living being a powerful warrior, and the professor isn’t far from--eep!”

My shoulder is warm, and there is a slight pressure on it as the swordsman squeezes. His eyes hint at a warning, and I shut myself up. “Sometimes, I swear,” he murmurs, “You really get going, don’t you?”

“Sorry?”

“Once you start to ramble, there’s no stopping you,” he says. There’s no menace to it, so I don’t get offended, but I am still wary anyway.

“Is...is this a good thing? Or a bad thing?”

Felix shakes his head. “Neither. Just...interesting.”

“You say that a lot about me.” Okay, not really. He’s said it only once, but “interesting” to Felix Hugo Fraldarius is like Annette saying “magic” is interesting.

There, again, a quirk of his mouth! But before he could continue the conversation, there is conversation below us, by the stairs that led to the graveyard. Immediately, Felix drops his hand. I find myself visibly sighing with relief, and he scowls at me, displeased by my reaction.

I can’t help it, really. It was either be relieved he was no longer touching me or sorry that my shoulder didn’t have his warmth anymore.

Bernie, don’t be ridiculous. I swear, the thoughts in my head sometimes.

“Felix! This is a surprise,” Sylvain says. He approaches, holding a bouquet tied in a simple white handkerchief. Beside him, Ingrid holds her own bundle of flowers, a ribbon with her house’s emblem intertwined amongst the stems. “I thought--”

“Whatever you thought was wrong, as always,” Felix grunts. He nods. “I was just finished paying my respects. Is the professor...?”

Sylvain and Ingrid look at each other. It is Ingrid who clears her throat. “About that, we actually were going to find you after we visited the grave. But since you’re both already here, ah...”

“She’s found us a mission,” Felix guesses. “Of course she has. There’s no other way to mourn for her now.”

“As a matter of fact, yes,” Ingrid responds. “She’s asking that you come. Bernadetta, you too.”

“I--what? _ Me _ ?!” I squeak. “Why? Where? Um...” I realize my indignation is _ so not _ what I should be showing, especially since it’s Professor Byleth we’re talking about here. “Where are we going?”

“Dedue’s asked for help,” Sylvain’s eyes are still on Felix, and the silent exchange between them breaks me out of my self-induced shock. Felix’s mouth is set in a thin line, a sign that usually means he’s not going to like what Sylvain is going to say. “He wants us to help him with Duscur survivors near Kleiman. They’re in a state of rebellion, and Dedue wants to stop any more bloodshed in the name of the dead king.”

“So he’s asked...the boar?”

“No, actually, he’s asked the professor.” Sylvain shrugs. “Surprising, I know, but it is what it is. Dimitri is going with us, of course.”

Felix rolls his eyes and throws his hand up. “Well of course he is. He wouldn’t just let his dog out of his leash.”

“Felix!” Ingrid’s tone is harsh, surprisingly so. She bites her lip when we all stare. “That’s enough. When you’re done here, get packing. Both of you. Orders from the professor.”

“It’s...going to be cold up north, isn’t it?” I murmur as Felix and I walk back to the dormitories.

He glances at me and raises an eyebrow. “Well, of course it is.”

“I...am not used to the cold in the north,” I say. I don’t know why I keep talking. It’s not like it’s Felix’s business how I feel about northern weather.

“That’s not a problem. Pack the cloak.”

My head shoots up, and for a moment, I don’t know what he means. “The--oh!”

“It should keep you warm,” he muses. If he notices my intense blushing, he says nothing. “We northerners are always packed for the extreme cold. As much as I dislike my father right now, I can’t disparage his practicality with clothing. He always sends the best my way.”

“Don’t you _ want _ your cloak back?”

He stops walking, as do I. When I turn to him, he’s rubbing his cheek. If there’s a blush there, I don’t see it. “Looks like you could use it more. Besides,” he shrugs. “The cold will do me some good.”

I would have insisted on giving his cloak back, but by that point, he’d turned away and gone straight to the training grounds.

Of course he would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always found the Tragedy at Duscur as one of the saddest things to have happened in the Kingdom's known history. It reminds me of the domino effect of events that started World War I. It also reminds me of several other points of history, where retaliation against a singular people led to mass persecution. Ugh. The topic alone is enough to spark conversation, but it doesn't make things less depressing.
> 
> But I do love Dedue, quasi-gentle giant that he is.


	14. Pegasus Moon, 1181

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bernie travels north, has a conversation on a mountain peak, and witnesses the almost-death of a beloved professor.
> 
> Or that time Dedue takes us north on his paralogue and Byleth's hair turns neon green.

**PEGASUS MOON, 1181**

If the end of last moon didn’t kill me with an onslaught of an anxiety attack, it very nearly did.

A little something about Kleiman, for those wondering (I know I was): it is very,  _ very  _ cold.

It does not help that we had to scale a mountain pass to get through to the region. It also doesn’t help that most of the lands there borders the coast. So imagine traipsing all the way north during  _ Guardian Moon  _ where the winds are at their worst and the snows are at their most frozen...

Needless to say I had the most miserable time getting there.

Granted, Felix’s cloak  _ did  _ keep me warm. And we are supplied with wyverns or pegasi for traveling there.

Not everyone is happy about flying, though. I’m sure Dedue would have protested himself, except he is anxious to get there before the Kingdom army makes their way to quash a rebellion. He settles himself on a wyvern, face stoic as always, but the way he grips the reins is a telltale sign of his sheer dislike of flying.

Like Dedue, Dimitri mostly grits his teeth and bears the pain of riding on a wyvern. At some point in the process of getting on, he almost falls, and it eventually gets decided that Dimitri will be riding with the professor. It is a blow to his pride, but Dimitri finds he isn’t the only one riding with another person. Besides, I think he has a crush on Professor Byleth, so his grumbling definitely lessens when he gets on behind her on a pegasus.

Petra takes Mercedes with her, and Ferdinand takes Dorothea. Lysithea, Ashe, Sylvain, and Ingrid all mount their own flying steeds with ease, and Annette giggles as Ignatz hangs onto her on the pegasus. That leaves Felix, who stares warily at anything that flies.

He is clearly uncomfortable when they bring him a wyvern, and wrinkles his nose as he tries to climb onto one. Eventually he does get on, and to his relief, it becomes stable enough for him to rise to the air.

Something else I learned along the way to Kleiman is that the place used to be the Duscur region. When Viscount Kleiman was awarded the title and control of the region, it was because of his heroism during the Tragedy of Duscur. It isn’t until later that I find that “heroism” in this case really means that he killed many of the people there in retaliation for Dimitri’s dead parents. A bloodbath, Sylvain calls it. A ridiculous massacre of the undeserving, Felix murmurs. Ingrid, on the other hand, calls it justice.

To my surprise, Dimitri doesn’t correct Ingrid, though he himself disagrees heartily. He did, after all, save Dedue from a gruesome fate. Ingrid doesn’t talk much on the flight there. Sylvain often flies by her side, as does Felix, and they all exchange words once or twice, but it is never something cheerful.

We arrive at Sacred Gwenhwyvar and alight on its mountain peaks. Ashe and I are tasked to scout the area, in search of the best vantage points, and that is when we see the glint of banners for the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus.

Ashe curses under his breath. It would be a bit more surprising, but I find that when Ashe gets agitated enough, he lets the language he learned on the streets show. I don’t mind it so much, not really, but it’s still disconcerting, that I’m working so closely with someone with neither rank nor title.

I think about Dorothea and my other classmates, and I cannot help but feel a sense of defiance, now that I’m so far away from my father. He would have disapproved completely.

“We need to get back,” Ashe says, “to warn the others. The Kingdom vanguard is here.”

He points to the tents and I see the warriors and knights in a flurry of activity by the foot of the mountain. Many of them are on foot, and some on horses. Few archers are posted below, just above a hill overlooking the vast expanse. They do not see us, but of course not. They do not think the danger will be above them.

I would say that that’s a dangerous way of thinking, but it works in our favor. We fly back to camp and relate what we saw.

“This isn’t good news,” Dimitri says, a growl of frustration escaping his lips, “But it’s not hopeless, either.”

“Certainly not,” Dedue says. “We need to reach the people of Duscur first, that is all. I fear the Kingdom knights will overpower them by sheer force alone, and the bloodshed…”

“Will be many,” Dimitry replies. “I agree. Professor, any thoughts?”

The professor bites her lip, tilts her head. It’s always like that when she’s deep in thought. She looks at the map Ashe supplies, and makes note of our markings on it. Her fingers run the length of the mountainside. “The Duscur rebels will be in the valley below. They will be at a disadvantage, especially if the Kingdom army is coming from above.”

“Which they are,” Sylvain points out, glancing at the spot on the map that marks the Kingdom army’s location. “As are we.”

“We’ll need flyers to head towards the areas where the rebels and the Kingdom are most likely to clash first. Ashe, Bernadetta, Petra, I’ll leave that to you. The rest of us will need to take things on foot. If we spook the Duscur soldiers, we might end up having to fight them.  _ Don’t kill them _ . It is enough just to maim them or send them running the other direction. Our goal today is to stop a rebellion, not kill the rest of the Duscur people.”

“Thank you, Professor,” Dedue says softly. It is clear to everyone in the tent the gravity of Dedue’s grateful response.

“The army won’t attack tonight, and it would be difficult for anyone to ambush the Kingdom army where they’re located, even the Duscur people know that.” Dimitri begins to roll up his map. “So I suggest getting a good night’s sleep. The attack will begin tomorrow.”

It is hard to sleep, not on the eve of battle. I find myself wandering the camp, hugging the cloak close as I breathe in the chilly mountain air. I find a nice purchase of rock that serves as both a seat and a wall against the buffeting wind, and I stay there for some time, watching the stars. If not for the cold, I admit I kind of like the silence of the place and the darkness of the sky.

“Quite a view, isn’t it?” 

“Whearghh!!” I squeak, tilting over.

Lightning-quick reflexes stop me from falling and rolling down the mountainside. The same lightning-quick reflexes push me back onto the rock. Just as quickly--as though he had never encroached upon my personal space--Felix Hugo Fraldarius backs away and stands to the side.

“Felix, we have  _ got  _ to stop meeting like this,” I murmur, my breath coming up in whisps. “I swear you’re trying to kill me.”

“Hardly,” he says, voice amused. “You’re doing that to yourself. What are you doing here?”

“I couldn’t sleep.”

“You and half the camp,” Felix says, leaning beside me. “Ingrid has managed to rope Ashe into a conversation about some book they’d read at the monastery, and Sylvain has been playing middleman to their argument. About  _ fictional characters _ . Don’t even get me started on what the boar and his dog are doing.”

“Why do you do that?”

“I--what?”

I shake my head. “I never understand why you call Dimitri a boar. I get the whole dog thing, because Dedue is very loyal to the prince. Not that I...agree with you or anything. I think Dedue’s great and all, but--”

“But why the boar?”

“Y...yes.”

Felix goes quiet for so long that I think he’s chosen not to answer. Only, he sighs after a time, letting out his own cold breath. He finds purchase on a stone seat next to mine, and I can’t help but be warmed by the proximity between us. It  _ is  _ a cold night, and there’s only so much warmth I can get from a cloak. Even if it  _ is  _ his cloak.

“There’s a darkness in the Boar Prince,” he finally says. “I saw it once, some years ago. There is a wildness in him.” He moves closer, though I only pick this up when his gloved hands play with the cloak. I think he is getting cold, too, and I am surprised he is even out here without his new cloak. “Mark my words, one day the prince will finally let out his true self, the wild boar within.”

I turn to him, and his hand stops fiddling with the cloak. He notices how his shoulder now bumps into mine, and he eases himself further away. Perhaps he felt me stiffen. Perhaps not. I don’t know, but he sits terribly still now, and I can’t help but want to keep him there in conversation, if nothing else.

“Then why follow him?”

“Why?”

“You don’t like your father,” I say, recalling the last time we went north. “And you don’t like Dimitri. And sometimes I feel like you only tolerate Sylvain because Ingrid makes you play nice with him. And those are your childhood friends. Why follow the Holy Kingdom at all?”

It’s a question I ask myself at times, locked up in the Varley household. Why keep my father’s name? Why remain a Varley?

“Heh.” Felix tugs at his hair, rubs a strand between his fingers. “That is something, isn’t it? I will not deny that my father and I have had...heated words. Sylvain is a pain on my side, but we do have some history, and I tolerate him for that. Mostly I stay because there’s a dead man I owe some fealty to.”

“Your brother? Glenn?”

Felix turns so sharply that I know it is the wrong thing to say. He grips my elbow and I wince. “What do you know of Glenn?” he hisses.

“Eep! I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” He lets go and takes a breath. He says nothing after, so I continue. “I...it’s just there are stories, you know? And I feel like he’s the only dead man you’d ever  _ show  _ fealty to. It’s a guess.”

“You’d be right,” he snorts. “Glenn doesn’t deserve it, but he’s the man I looked up to. My father...it wasn’t right of  _ Rodrigue  _ to hail Glenn as some martyr. My brother was no  _ martyr _ . He was a warrior. He did what he  _ had  _ to do, but made the mistake of dying. He died and it took many of us to pick up the pieces. It broke…” He stops, shakes his head. The silence is palpable between us, and I feel the breaking in his voice.

I don’t say a word. I just continue to look up at the sky.

“I stopped mourning him years ago.” The break in his voice disappears, and he is back to his usual sardonic civility. “But it kills me all the same that people talk of him like some chivalric knight. That it was his  _ duty  _ to die for king and country. What in Fodlan does that even mean? If you’re dead, you can’t fulfill your  _ duty _ . Being stronger, learning,  _ living _ , that’s how duty gets fulfilled.”

“As for the Boar Prince,” he shrugs. “He makes me uneasy, and I stay under his service mostly to watch.”

“To watch?”

“Don’t put too much trust in him, Bernadetta,” he whispers and gets up. “Someday his bloodlust will come back. Perhaps he’ll turn that towards the Blue Lions, and where would we all be?”

Somehow, it is harder now for me to sleep than it had been before.

* * *

I think the battle is what the professor needed, because she fights her way down the mountain with a ferocity none of us have seen.

She is experienced fighting bandits, and the rebels are no different for her. We all make quick work of neutralizing the rebel generals and persuading the Kingdom forces to return to their territories. After all, there is no point in another massacre, when the Duscur rebels have been turned around.

There is no celebrating to be had, because once we are done, we fly immediately back to the monastery. Frankly, I am relieved by the speed it took to return. I plan to sleep for weeks if I could. Or, you know, maybe hours. In the solitude of my own room.

Which I do, and I sleep for some time until there is a banging at my door, and Dorothea’s voice rings in the distance. I rub my eyes open, groan as I get up, and reach for my door.

“Bernie,” Dorothea says, and I stop in my tracks. She sounds agitated. “It’s the professor. Goddess, she’s gone.”

I wrench the door open, uncaring of how disheveled I look. Dorothea is pale, and her eyes are wide and ready to burst with tears. “She’s...oh, it was horrible!”

“What...what happened?!” I swear, we all only parted ways the night before, and there seemed nothing strange about our parting…

Dorothea didn’t wait for me to invite her in. She wafted into the room and sat herself on the chair near my desk. The bear with the sapphire eyes is on the chair next to hers, and she reaches for it, hugging it close. I would have objected, but I think she needs Dima the Bear more than I do. (I would have changed his name, but I can’t unsee the stuffed bear having any other name.)

“There was talk about Monica. Uh, Kronya now,” Dorothea begins, “After Jeralt’s death, Dimitri had roped Claude into investigating. The man might be as much as a womanizer as Sylvain, but there’s no denying he’s got a way with information. When we returned, Claude told Dimitri they have a location on Kronya. And Dimitri told the professor immediately after.”

I nod, sitting on my bed. I know where this is going. With the way Professor Byleth seemed in Kleiman, and how she was devoid of any drive to sleep or eat or, well, have tea with  _ anyone _ , there really is only one way to bring her out of that kind of misery.

“She headed to the forest,” Dorothea says, confirming my thoughts. “She took Dimitri and a few of us with her, the ones who were still itching for a fight. When we got there, though…”

She gulps, inhales and exhales, as though she is trying to piece her emotions together before she falls apart. I have never seen Dorothea this upset before, and it shakes me up, too. “The professor...she’d gone ahead, and...and well, then she disappeared in a black cloud. Dimitri yelled for us to run back, and practically  _ commanded me  _ to get reinforcements, but what else could I do? Byleth is  _ dea _ \--”

More commotion, and soldiers run past my open room, yelling for a medic. Dorothea and I stare at each other, and in one united mind, we both lunge out of our seats and run toward my door.

I make it out first, and I see the swishing of blue cloak and the sweat-stained armor of Dimitri. I am a little relieved at the sight, but even more so when I see the woman in his arms. There is a strange glow to her hair, and if not for the distinct tights and the armored bodice, I would not have recognized her. But it is so very painfully obvious who it is.

_ Professor Byleth _ .

“Pr--professor?!” I manage to squeak out.

“Still alive, but I don’t know what’s wrong,” Dimitri says hurriedly as he passes by. “I need to take her to Professor Manuela.”

We let him through, and Dorothea backs up to the side of my room, sagging onto the wall. She utters an oath to the goddess, and--thankfully--lets go of the bear that she’s been squeezing so tightly. I pick the bear up and hold it to my chest. “I...I wonder what happened,” I say softly.

Laughter bubbles up in Dorothea. Laughter and relief and joy that our professor is alright. Strangely changed, but alright. “I don’t even care. I thought the professor was  _ dead _ , Bernie. But she’s alive.  _ Alive _ !”

I don’t admit it out loud, but I am also greatly relieved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh. November is quite positively the worst time to want to write anything expansive. I've spent the past few days marking essays and updating report cards with comments. It's brutal.
> 
> Anyway, I can't possibly go through every paralogue pre- and post-timeskip, so I picked and chose the ones that felt right for a Bernie commentary. I forgot at this point to check my Fodlanian calendar, so by the time this chapter got through 3000 words, I realized I didn't even get through Felix's birthday! This shall be remedied next chapter! I do like to mix the good and the bad, and ohhhh does the end of Pegasus Moon supply drama and more.


	15. Lone Moon, 1181 (Part I)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the search for Felix is finally under way, and the Blue Lions celebrate a swordsman's birthday.
> 
> Or that calm before the impending shitstorm.

**LETTER TO THE ARCHBISHOP**

_ Archbishop Byleth Eisner Blaiddyd _

_ Garreg Mach Monastery, Unified Fodlan _

_ Great Tree Moon _

_ Her Esteemed Archbishop, _

_ We have finally gotten one step in the right direction! Thank Seiros. _

_ Reports of a swordsman matching Father’s looks, height, age, and sour-faced temperament have been made between Gronder Field and Varley. _

_ Uncle Syl has accompanied me south. I had made my objections, stating that his troops were needed with the king, but was immediately made to rescind when I realized that Uncle Dimi had practically ordered the matter closed. You had a hand in this, too, I presume? _

_ Still, Uncle’s company was definitely welcome, and as wonders may have it, between the Lioness, the King of Unified Fodlan, and the majority of the Faerghus army marching north to quash the Sreng rebellions once and for all, we aren’t needed. This freed us up to search further south. _

_ We made it to Varley without further incident, and with your gracious influence, we were let into the old grounds where my mother used to seclude herself in. _

_ Varley Manor is a bleak place. After the land’s annexation to Garreg Mach, most of the lands have been used by villagers whose homes had been devastated by the Unification War. They’ve built towns closer to the monastery, and the village below the hill has turned into several villages. This meant that the old Varley Manor has been left unattended and uncultivated, and most of the area has aged tremendously. _

_ Mother would have loved the overgrown plants, though. Especially the carnivorous ones that began devouring the greenhouse. _

_ It’s unsurprising why Mother chose not to remain here. As I traipsed the halls and perused the faded paintings, it became apparent to me how she truly loathed being trapped here. The gardens might have been her only solace. _

_ One room gave me particular difficulty, and I admit, after having read Mother’s journals, I had to hurry out the minute I saw the bare, gray walls and the scuff marks on the floor. I saw the chairs lined up on the sides, and fraying rope, and I knew what the room’s purpose had been. It is brutal and gruesome, and at that moment, I became nauseous. _

_ Uncle Syl took out his anger on the room his own way. He torched the chairs and rope and bashed the door down with an axe. Leave it to him to make the already bleak house a bit brighter. _

_ Mother was clever and shy, and knew how to hide things in the nooks and crannies of her own room. But Father knew her best, and he’d unearthed many journals that Hilda had spoken to us about. The journals were splayed out on Mother’s old bed, and other than the light dust covering the opened pages, there were further signs that Father had been in the vicinity. _

_ One of the most worrying, however, had been the fact that his prized sword was propped by Mother’s old desk. _

_ Uncle Syl recognized the Sword of Moralta immediately. He’d seen Father wield it enough times to know it from his other swords, and honestly, it shook him far more than it did me. Felix Hugo Fraldarius is _ never _ without his blade, and it took Uncle Syl about several minutes to decide whether to take the Relic back or not. _

_ I made the executive decision to strap the sword to my side. As the only living Fraldarius heir, it made the most sense. Besides, Uncle Syl wouldn’t have been able to wield it anyway. The sword was never his calling. _

_ We packed Mother’s journals with us and left no stone unturned. We both decided not to stay for too long. It is still a mystery, the how and why Father vanished, and it’s looking more menacing as I think about it. Uncle says Father keeps at least two swords with him, and perhaps where he's going he can't take a Relic with him. I don't know if Uncle is trying to reassure me or himself. I keep telling myself that he doesn’t need a sword to escape his tethers. I know he’s just as much an accomplished mage. _

_ But what if there are more evil forces at work? I don’t want to think that he’s perished under them. I know my father. He’s the type of person to look death in the face and survive the encounter. He’s done so many times already. _

_ We are headed back to Fraldarius territory to continue perusing through mother’s writing. Did you notice she stopped writing about her monthly activities after you disappeared for five years? I wonder if it’s because she spent those five years doing research instead. _

_ Give the twins my love, and well wishes to His Majesty, though I believe we’ll be able to see him before you do. _

_ Felicity Glenn Fraldarius, Duchess _

_ [No Location Posted] _

* * *

**LONE MOON, 1181 (Part I)**

My father has been placed under house arrest.

If Count Varley was to be the most of my worries, this wouldn’t be a problem, but a lot happened last moon, and I don’t even know where to begin.

Perhaps, I suppose, at the beginning. At least the beginning isn’t so bleak.

“No,” Felix says--_ growls _ \--and stands, making for the classroom exit. He doesn’t get very far, because Dimitri practically _ commands _him to sit, and Ingrid and Sylvain cut him off at every opportunity. It is Dedue who successfully blocks him from the exit, his massive frame menacing even to a potent swordsman. Annette and Mercedes hold up a tray of what I now recognize as a meat pie, and Ashe tags along with a large box of assorted presents.

Felix is livid, red in the face and wishing to be anywhere but where he is right now. But there is nowhere to run, and he grumbles as he sits back down, a look of mortification crossing his face when Dorothea unceremoniously plops cat ears on his head. He looks up and _ glares _.

“What in the blazes--”

“Short notice,” Dorothea shrugs. “It was the only accessory I managed to scrounge up in my arsenal of costumes. I think it’s cute!”

“It’s _ ridiculous _.”

“I am not understanding,” Petra pokes at the ears. “Cat ears display the celebration of Felix’s naming? It holds this value?”

Ferdinand laughs. “I...think there is poetry to it.”

I don’t know whether Felix looks horrified or annoyed by this response. “Don’t you dare start, Ferdinand von Aegir.”

“Oh come on!” Dorothea pouts. “There’s poetry here! Cat ears, because he’s Felix, and he’s got..._ feline _ grace. And...uh…”

“We’re the Blue Lions house?” I suggest. “And that makes him feline through and through?”

Professor Byleth--who joins us soon after--hears the statement, and quips, “She’s not wrong! And you do look great in it, Felix. Like one of those rumpled sour-faced cats I pass along my way to class.”

Dorothea and Ferdinand stare at me, and we all burst out laughing. The look of consternation in Felix’s eyes is almost worth the pain he might cause on all of us once we’ve had our fun. Lysithea is also frowning, though I can guess as to why.

“I don’t know what the trouble is, Lysithea,” Ignatz says, looking at the pie. “It looks and smells delicious!” 

“I was promised cake. Where’s the cake?”

“You were promised _ baked goods _,” Annette says, “Felix doesn’t like sweets, so in honor of his most glorious birthday--”

“Which everyone should have _ forgotten _ .” Felix crosses his arms, resigns himself to the merriment taken on his account. “I don’t _ do _birthday celebrations.”

“--we made him meat pie.”

“Correction,” Mercedes giggles. “Ashe and Dedue have made him meat pie.”

“Oghma wolverine smoked to a spicy perfection,” Dedue says blandly, though he is also smiling. A rarity for any occasion. “Ashe and I experimented with the best way to spice it, and we think we might have succeeded.”

Felix sits up, looks at the pie. “Hmph. I...suppose this pie of yours might be worth all the nonsense.”

“Nonsense?!” Sylvain says, sitting next to him and throwing his arm around his friend. “Why wouldn’t we celebrate one of the best days in the world?”

“You just like the partying part of birthdays,” Ingrid quips, though she actually drops her chastising tone and sits next to Sylvain. “But I suppose there’s always something to enjoy.”

“Like tea!” Ferdinand says, already pouring servings for everyone at the table.

“I don’t know if tea is the right pairing for a spiced meat,” Dimitri muses, eyeing the tea warily.

“Settle your unease, Your Highness,” Ferdinand gives him a bow, “It is a cold tea. I had batches steeped since last night and Mercedes helped with freezing some of the tea for ice. Now, I prefer hot tea myself, but I was told there would be spicy food involved, and it occurred to me that too much heat might be detrimental to everyone’s stomachs.”

“What flavor is it?” I ask, peering over, amazed at the lengths Ferdinand went through to prepare something for Felix, of all people.

Then again, I blush somewhat, I also spent some time completing his gift from me.

“Almyran Pine Needles,” Ferdinand beams. “Infused with cinnamon, and, for the sweet-lovers, I’ve prepared some Albinean Berry Blend as well.”

“That...is actually impressive,” Felix finally huffs. “Uh, thank you. All of you.”

Dimitri smiles. “Happy birthday, Felix!”

The swordsman grunts in response. We take that as a sign to sit and enjoy ourselves. And, funnily enough, we do.

Even Felix cannot avoid the merriment entirely, and at no point during that time does he take the cat ears off.

“You took that rather well,” I say, as the classroom begins to empty, and most of the Blue Lions start making excuses to leave. “I thought you were ready to fight anyone who got in your way.”

Felix snorts, stretches--_ catlike _, I think, and inwardly giggle--before getting off the bench. “The minute I saw the professor approaching, it was a lost cause. It would have been too much effort to try to fight her on top of Dedue. And I swear Annette was readying an ice spell under her breath. Don’t tell her, but I’m a little afraid of the damage she can do with her magic sometimes.”

“Ah, well,” I smile a bit tentatively. “I’m sort of glad you stayed.”

“Oh?” He looks down. “Why?”

“It’s not every day you turn 18. I should know.”

“I...suppose.” He waits for me to say anything more, but when I don’t, he turns to move away.

“Uh, Felix?” I stand, trying not to trip as I hurry toward him. “I...here!” I shove a wrapped package at him. “Wait, no, don’t open it here! Oh, god, you’re going to hate it!”

I try to run, but the rustling of Felix opening up the package keeps me rooted to the spot. It’s one of those horrific moments where you want to look away but just _ can’t _. And it’s happening now, as Felix continues to unwrap the present.

A sea of blue meets his ungloved hands, and his eyes widen.

He examines the overcoat, and I wince as he feels the cloth beneath his fingers. Is he looking for an imperfect seam? I swear I double-checked everything as I sewed it together. It _ has _to be perfect, I think. It took me most of the Ethereal Moon to design and gather the materials, and putting it together…

“Did you make this?”

Oh, goddess. He could _ tell _ it’s handmade. “Sorry! I thought it would be a good idea to make it myself. I didn’t think it would be so imperfect. You don’t like the asymmetric design, right? And who needs a fur hood attached to the shoulders? But it was really difficult finding the best seamstress for the job, and most of them couldn’t understand my design-- _ even though _I practically illustrated it for them and told them that you would need a great deal of freedom of movement--"

“Bernadetta.”

“--and short of ruining the surprise--”

“_ Bernadetta _.”

“--I couldn’t very well ask _ Sylvain _, he’s a good dresser, but not as well-kept as you--”

“Oh for the love of--”

“--not that I’m saying you look _ good _ as in handsome good, just that you _ are _ pretty stylish, and I know this doesn’t make up for the cloaks you already have, but--”

He doesn’t let me finish. While I ramble, Felix divests his hands of my present, placing it on the closest table to us. Instead, his free hands move their way to my mouth, closing them off from even more confused discourse. I blow out a breath, spreading the warmth back to my mouth--and his hand--and my eyes widen.

“You’re about to apologize for something, so let me cut to the chase,” he says wryly. “Thank you. It is...an extraordinary gift.”

Felix doesn’t remove his hands from my mouth, only stands there so I can calm down. When I no longer fidget, he stoops down, warm, honey-amber eyes leveled with mine.

He moves so swiftly that I do not register that he’s kissed my cheek until he lets his hands finally drop to the side. Now I’m _ really _at a loss for words, and I almost don’t notice the small smile he gives before he bows out, takes his new overcoat, and leaves me in the classroom. But I do notice, and I stand there for a full minute.

Flabbergasted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a lot of catching up I have to do with NaNoWriMo, so hopefully my chapter posting will be a bit more regular. On that note, I'm almost halfway through the story, yay! It's looking more like it'll be way over 50k words, though...I almost want to apologize for turning this into an epic, but I won't. I need the writing practice.
> 
> Also, one of my students insists I include a cat in a top hat to make any story fantastic. I settled for cat ears. And frumpy Felix. Teehee.


	16. Lone Moon, 1181 (Part II)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bernie finds new and horrific revelations, and war is upon them.
> 
> Or those final days before things come to a head at Garreg Mach.

**LONE MOON, 1181 (Part II)**

Everything goes wrong at the Holy Mausoleum.

It was supposed to be some glorified awakening of a goddess. Professor Byleth’s moment of ascension. At least, that’s what we were told by the Archbishop.

We knew, of course, going in, that there may have been trouble. What we didn’t expect was the duplicitous nature of one of our house leaders.

I still cannot believe that the Flame Emperor is Edelgard.

The revelation itself is a massive blow to us all.

It is why my father is now under house arrest, and why I’m on the run with the brunt of the Blue Lions.

It is why Dimitri has changed overnight. Gone is the casual ease in the air when we stir beside him. He is hardened now, closed off to even his closest friends, his mind on one thing only.

It is why the professor is walking, red-eyed from lack of sleep, harried and frayed as though she has no thought to keep herself together anymore. She is often in Dimitri and Dedue’s company, and the three are armed to the full, hyper-aware that there may be another enemy in our midst.

It is why Felix and Sylvain are busy working straight into the night on most days, writing missives and whispering with each other, getting troops mobilized for a possible attack by the Empire. Sylvain worries that the monastery will be attacked sooner rather than later. Felix is doubly worried because Faerghus will be next. They both write their fathers repeatedly, and owls go back and forth every day.

With one revelation, the world around us changes, and more than once I ask the goddess to swallow me up into the cold underground to let me live in peace and quiet.

I cannot face the world, cannot pass the Black Eagles classroom--my  _ old house _ \--without screaming in fear and frustration and desperation. I cannot bear to converse with Caspar and Linhardt, whose countenances are soured by their hardened faces--sons whose fathers have sided with a new emperor. I don’t know what is to become of them, stuck in Garreg Mach by order of the Archbishop. Hostages to an unreasonable conflict.

I cannot look at Dorothea, who used to affectionately call the new Adrestian Emperor “Edie.” She now walks the halls a diminished woman, a shade of what she had once been. I cannot bear to see Petra, troubled and confused and worried--oh so worried--for the well-being of Brigid, now that Adrestia has gone to war. She writes to her grandfather for guidance. Many of her letters go unanswered.

Most of all, I cannot look at Ferdinand, whose entire life comes crashing down on him. Letters from Aegir are all bad news; his father has been stripped of his title and nobility, his lands removed from the family’s name. He receives letters from Hubert. I do not know what they say, but Ferdinand’s reaction is the same for all of them. He clenches the letters from the new Count Vestra towards his chest, eyes glassy from the sheer refusal of crying. Ferdinand does not shed a tear, not for Hubert, not for his family’s dishonor. But I know he is devastated, and it is this devastation that drives me back to my room.

We all cope however we can, and it is days before anyone checks on me. At first I rebuff the treatise to get out of my room. But I hear the haggard voice of Professor Byleth, and I open the door.

“Can I come in?” she asks, though she could very well command, and I would have done what she wanted and more. I let her through and take a seat on my bed, taking comfort in hugging Dima the Bear.

The professor does not say much at first, then she broaches the subject. “I have not seen you attend class in a while.”

It boggles me how there are classes being run, what with an impending war. I shake my head. “It hardly seems important now, Professor. Sorry.”

She shakes her head and shrugs. “I understand. Honestly, with how everyone has been after Edel--after the revelation, I’ve had very few people attending my lectures. I would have been more surprised if more than two or three people actually  _ showed _ . As is, only Annette and Lysithea have been constant attendees, and they’re just as distracted.”

We sit on in silence.

“Everything’s changed now,” the professor whispers. “You will want to prepare within the fortnight. Our scouts have spied Empire soldiers heading towards Varley. They’ll be at our gates soon enough.”

She doesn’t question my loyalty, or ask if the news bothers me. She doesn’t say anything about the state of my father and how my mother--currently holed up in Enbarr--is taking the news that our entire family is being torn apart. She doesn’t mention any of these things because she knows my answers to her questions are complicated. Conflicted.

I’m not even entirely sure how to feel about my father. I am relieved he no longer holds power over harming me, but I am uneasy as to where that puts me. Will I be able to return to Varley? Or will Emperor Edelgard have me thrown in the dungeon for being a traitor?

I remember the day I had asked her to switch houses.

_ “Oh! You want to join Professor Byleth’s house?” Edelgard had asked, a small frown on her pristinely calm face. “Are you sure, Bernadetta?” _

_ “It’s...I feel like she might be able to teach me many things to take home. To better serve you,” I added in hopes Edelgard wouldn’t become furious over the request. _

_ The heir to Adrestia had eventually nodded. “No, it’s your right, obviously. We’re not all of us restricted to stay in the same house, just because of our loyalties. Frankly, I’m relieved.” _

_ “Y...you’re not angry with me?” _

_ She smiled sadly. “The opposite in fact, Bernadetta. I think...I think it’s the best decision given the circumstances. Everyone has the right to cut her own path and grow out of the tangle of weeds. And for you, well, perhaps the Blue Lions house is your sun.” _

_ “You’re making me sound like a plant,” I had grumbled. _

_ She had laughed. “Aren’t you, though? Plants are resilient, as are you. And I hope…” Edelgard paused then, shook her head. “No. I  _ know _ it will be a change for the better. For you.” _

Maybe she will give me clemency. I hope she will. If I am caught in this war, and if I die…

No, it’s better not to think about that now.

I don’t respond to the professor right away, but when I do, she gives me a meaningful look. She stands and makes her way to the exit, turns around for one last glance. “Look, Bernadetta. It’s not too late to go to Edelgard. I’m speaking to Dorothea, Ferdinand, and Petra tonight. I know Rhea isn’t letting anyone out, especially former Black Eagles members, but I can make arrangements…”

It’s no use wondering whether Dorothea, Ferdinand, or Petra will take the offer. I know in their heart of hearts they will refuse it.

And I know in my heart of hearts that I will, too.

“That’s okay, Professor,” I say quietly. “I...I would rather stay here if you don’t mind.”

“There’s no knowing what will happen if you stay loyal to the Kingdom.”

I grimace. “Frankly, professor, there’s no knowing what will happen to any of us either way.”

I don’t tell her that it would kill me now to abandon the monastery. I don’t tell her that I would rather burn in the fiery depths than to turn away from Sylvain, who taught me how to hone my lance skills on horseback; from Ashe, my fellow archer companion; from Dedue, who no longer looks menacing because I know how he treats the greenhouse plants; from Ingrid and Annette and Mercedes, strong, stalwart girls I would call sisters if I could; from Dimitri, a future king who has already lost so much.

I don’t tell her it would absolutely destroy me if I abandoned Felix. How it would haunt me for the rest of my days if he died in a war created by the nation I grew up in. How it would utterly tear me apart to see a world without the existence of Felix Hugo Fraldarius.

It is a secret I will take to my grave if I must.

* * *

War is upon us and Garreg Mach is in complete chaos. There is fighting all around us now, and the Archbishop has disappeared into a plume of smoke and fire, replaced by a creature none of us knew still existed.

The dragon--immaculate and majestic and the most beautiful thing I’ve seen in the skies--takes flight, rending its enemies to complete and utter ruin. But it is not enough. Nothing is enough to stop the tide of the Empire marching through the mountains. Of Edelgard’s Demon Beasts stampeding through what is left of the village.

Not even Professor Byleth has a chance against four of the beasts, alone below with just the dragon as her ally.

I stand at the ramparts, horrified, as I watch our professor fall into the abyss. It is funny how things register in slow motion, and in this case, it does. Everything comes in complete focus from afar. The dragon roaring, speaking in a tongue even Ashe and I can hear at the monastery’s tower. The professor slicing with the Sword of Creator, felling one beast after the other, only to succumb to the broken earth beneath.

She falls, and the once Archbishop stumbles, is overtaken by the beasts that are left.

Ashe and I remain numb for some time, and we do not hear the screaming from above. Ingrid and Sylvain descend on the tower with their flying steeds. Without ample opportunity to mourn, Ashe and I are tugged away from the rampart walls, away from the heat of battle and toward the stairs. I do not know where we head, because everything is a haze, and images of the professor falling is the only thing coursing through my head.

The first wave of fighting is over, but the battle still rages on before us, and it will be a matter of hours before the entire monastery will be under siege.

Edelgard had not stayed idle in Garreg Mach. It must have taken her moons of planning, but she had many of her troops mobilized and ready for an attack.

“She used Varley,” I say breathlessly, after I realize we are in the war room, standing beside what Kingdom and Alliance generals are left within the walls. Seteth, Flayn, and our two remaining professors are also in the room, and I am snapped out of my grief. “She...Edelgard stationed them with my father’s permission, and right before she deposed of him, she…”

I cannot continue, not without completely incriminating my entire family name.

Professor Hanneman shakes his head. “That is not your blame to take, Bernadetta, and you know it.”

He is right, of course. I am not to blame for all this. What I  _ am  _ to be blamed for is my lack of oversight. I stayed in my room for too long. I let the world move around me. I closed my eyes to what was happening in Varley, and my only concern was that my father would not find anything wrong with what I did at Garreg Mach. That he would not force me to return home, to marry some unpleasant minor lord and become a good, submissive wife.

I will  _ never  _ return to that.

But right now, my father is the least of my worries.

“Still, Varley was unexpected,” Claude grumbles, “We heard nothing on our end. Normally, to get to the monastery, you’d have to cross the Great Bridge, which is in Alliance territory. You then head west into the mountain pass. Coming from the south would mean trying to get through the narrow pass, and that would have been noticeable.”

“Unless you’ve mobilized an army at the foot of the cliffs already. In Varley.” Dimitri peruses the map, slams a frustrated hand on the table. Everyone stares as his fist breaks through the wood, and the room grows tense at the Faerghus prince’s palpable anger. “It’s a smart move, and the Empire has every opportunity to mobilize troops from the south.”

“Where does that lead us?” Professor Manuela speaks up, the kindness in her voice gone, replaced by grim determination. “Not all of the monastery residents are combatants. We have refugees from Remire as well as the border village to think of now. Not all our students are trained as well, and save for the Officers Academy…”

Seteth raises a hand, silences the protestations. “We will, of course, evacuate. North would be the obvious direction, but the mountain passes will make that difficult for non-flyers. It will be best to split our retreat two ways. Able-bodied civilians down the pass towards Alliance territory, the children and the elderly north on as many wyverns and pegasi as we can muster. Your Highness--”

“No,” Dimitri says. “I will stay and fight.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Sylvain snaps before Ingrid can stop him. Dimitri’s face pivots toward Sylvain, a growl emerging from his lips, his eyes flashing with anger. Sylvain is not cowed. In fact, it fuels him further. “You are the  _ sole survivor  _ of the Kingdom monarchy, Dimitri. You can’t stay here.”

“I have a job to complete.” Dimitri makes as if to attack Sylvain, but Dedue grabs his arm, and the prince stays in place.

“Your  _ job  _ is to Faerghus,” Sylvain continues, his own face as red as Dimitri’s. “You have a  _ responsibility  _ to the people.”

“I have a responsibility to the dead!”

“What about the ones you care for? How about the  _ living _ ?!”

“I HAVE NO ONE LEFT. MY  _ BELOVED _ IS DEAD.” We are struck by the anguish and breaking of his voice. Ferdinand winces and stares up at the ceiling. Annette’s eyes brim with tears, but she stops herself from making a sound. Even Ingrid is shaken by the statement, and we know-- _ we all know _ \--who he has added to his list of dead. Who he treasures most of all.

Dedue puts a comforting hand on his shoulder, and Dimitri shakes it away, still seething.

“ENOUGH!” Seteth practically bellows. The fighting between the two friends is halted, and we all turn to the Archbishop’s right hand. “Prince Dimitri,  _ please  _ listen to reason. Sylvain is right. You are needed north. Your best chance of survival is to return to Blaiddyd lands, to Fhirdiad. Muster as much troops as you can for a counterattack. You  _ cannot  _ die today. Not even...not even for the beloved.”

“I will. Have.  _ That. Woman’s. Head _ .” Each word is punctuated, like a snake spitting out venom. It alarms me that there is so much hate in Dimitri’s words, and I turn to Felix, whose eyes narrow. He sees my glance, and mouths the word “boar” at me.

_ Don’t put too much trust in him, Bernadetta _ .

I shudder at the unraveling of the prince’s temper.

_ Someday his bloodlust will come back. Perhaps he’ll turn that towards the Blue Lions, and where would we all be? _

It is Claude who actually breaks Dimitri’s trance. Claude the strategist. Claude, with careful words and easy friendship to Dimitri, speaks up, firmly yet gently. “Something doesn’t add up, Dimitri. I think Edelgard  _ wants  _ us to take the fight to her. She has a plan, I bet, and she knows you enough to be aware that your first instinct is to fight her head on.”

Dimitri--whose pride is worn on his shoulders, whose anger is so evident it hurts us to watch--deflates from Claude’s words. He turns away. “Then  _ what  _ do you suggest we do?”

“Hate to admit it,” Claude says, “but we make for a strategic retreat. The best way to stem the tide is to exhaust her forces. Find her weakness.”

“Turn tail and  _ run _ ? That is your master plan, Claude?” Dimitri barks out, laughing hoarsely. “Of course it is. A coward will always be a coward.”

Claude looks unruffled by the statement. Instead, he matches Dimitri’s glare with a cool stare. “And this coward will live long enough to sow seeds of discontent between the Empire forces. What good are you if you die here and now? How is the Kingdom to recover? How is Duscur--”

“Don’t bring my people into this,” Dedue pleads silently.

The Riegan heir shakes his head, but doesn’t continue his last statement. “Don’t you see? Edelgard will win if you fight her today. Edelgard will win because  _ she knows _ how furious you will have become. She hit us hard with Teach--”

“Stop,” I say, look at Claude, who pauses. “I think he’s got the point, Claude.”

The prince of Faerghus remains silent, and he turns to the rest of his house, to Sylvain who is still seething, to Ingrid and Annette and Ashe. One by one, they turn away, and Dimitri’s gaze falls last on Felix. Felix, who doesn’t turn away.

“You would have me retreat.  _ Strategically _ ,” he spits out. “You would agree with...this plan.”

Felix ponders this thought, watches his prince before him. Eventually, he nods. “I would, Boar Prince.”

“Unbelievable,” Dimitri laughs. “Even  _ Felix  _ agrees, and he’s wanted me dead for years. So be it. I shall return to my chambers. Plan if you must, but I will not have a part in any of this ridiculous banter.”

The prince walks out, leaving us in stunned silence. Dedue nods at Sylvain and Felix, takes a small bow, and follows his prince out the door. A few of us let out our collective breaths.

“Thank you, Riegan,” Felix mumbles, loud enough for the entire room to hear it.

Claude gives out one of his infectious winks. “Not so bad yourself, Fraldarius.”

The planning continues, and it is decided that Flayn and Seteth will take the wyverns and pegasus knights north, while Claude and Dimitri will lead the rest of the civilians into Alliance domain. Sylvain and Ingrid will join Seteth, and the rest of the Blue Lions generals will also make their way east. Once the civilians are safely deposited in nearby non-Empire villages, we are all to congregate to the north, to Fhirdiad.

Some of us have other plans, however.

“It would be against my nature to leave Garreg Mach without a fight,” Ferdinand finally says. “I request to stay behind with a contingent of troops. Just until everyone has made their way safely away from the monastery’s walls.”

“I will also be fighting,” Petra says. “Brigid stands against the Empire.”

“And you’d be hard-pressed to keep me from protecting Ferdi and Petra here.” While not her usual self, Dorothea’s pale and haggard complexion is better now, and she faces the problems head-on. “I...need to be where I can help.”

To my surprise, they turn to me. As does Felix. I swallow the lump in my throat, knowing that what I will say next will be the most important decision I will be making for some time.

“I’m staying, too,” I say. For once, there is no quiver in my voice, and I look at each of my ex-Black Eagles friends. “It’s only right. I owe it to the professor.”

I owe it to the professor to  _ fight _ .

“Humph,” Felix says, shifts his feet. “It might be the smarter strategy, to keep a contingent of forces to stall Empire movement while civilians flee. I will fight with them.”

“Felix,” Sylvain warns. “Don’t--”

“I am not dying today, you idiot,” Felix snaps. “I know my promise.”

The redhead bites his lip, then nods. The two look at each other solemnly, and an understanding seems to pass between them.

We talk over the plans for a few more minutes, and Ashe eventually volunteers to let Dimitri know where they need him. One by one, we file out of the war room, intent on heading back to our quarters to prepare one last time.

Me? I have nothing to prepare. My weapons are on my back, and my armor is as sturdy as it’s going to be. I head to the greenhouse instead.

I sit on a bench overlooking my flowers. I had cultivated my seedlings for moons, and now I’m sadly realizing that if Garreg Mach falls, they will be one of the first things to be destroyed. I try not to cry at the thought, but I cannot help it. My vision becomes blurry.

“Everything really  _ is  _ changing,” I say to a blooming bed of pitcher plants.

“I thought I’d find you here.”

I dash my sleeve across my face. I am too tired to be surprised. “Hey, Felix,”

He sits beside me, stretches his legs out, truly a cat easing himself on the bench. I sniff, and he looks at me, a question on his face. I shake my head. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Better if you don’t,” he answers, visibly relieved. “I don’t have any advice for you.”

The statement makes me laugh. “I don’t  _ want  _ your advice.”

“...Would you like me to leave?”

“I…” Did I want him to leave? I sigh. “No. Stay. Please.”

So he stays. We watch the flowers, me occasionally sniffing, him fiddling with the buttons on his shirt. Eventually, he sighs. “It will be a grim fight. You are aware we are about to die.”

He doesn’t frame it as a question, and I am grateful for it. That means he’s not treating me like an idiot. Like I’m useless, stupid Bernie. “I am.”

“And my chances are just as good as yours. In surviving, I mean.”

“Better,” I say. I don’t live in delusions. Felix is an expert warrior. Between the two of us, he’s the most likely to get out of this conflict alive. “Besides, you made a promise. If you die now…”

If he died now, what would Rodrigue Achille Fraldarius have to say? I think this, but don’t say it aloud.

He seems to read my mind anyway, and he snorts. “You’re right. I don’t need my father making more idiotic statements on my behalf. And Sylvain will find a way to make my afterlife miserable if I so much as break our promise. So I’ve made it my mission  _ not  _ to die today. Problem solved.”

“Congratulations,” I say, though there is no malice in it. In fact, I swear I’ve quirked my tone into a teasing one. “Blades, blood, and battle, right?”

“Heh. You remember.  _ And _ since I’ve decided  _ not  _ to die today,” Felix says with an almost cheerful fervor. He turns to me, a hand brushing at the tips of my hair. “I’ve also decided that my entire mission in Garreg Mach is to keep  _ you  _ from perishing as well.”

“Whaa--”

“No arguments, Bernadetta.” Felix looks at me with that odd expression he gets when he’s truly intending to do something silly. “Just take it as you will.”

“I…”

He brushes the side of my face with his fingers, tilts my chin up to look at him. “We’ll both live through this, mark my words. And then…”

I don’t ask him to finish his sentence. I just stare, dumbfounded by this sudden show of affection. He doesn’t seem to be aware of it himself, and I wonder--truly wonder--what brought the whole situation along. Before I say anything, though, he drops his hand from my face, turns away to look at the bed of flowers again.

I never did get to find out what the end of his thought process was.

But I do know that when Felix Hugo Fraldarius promises something, he delivers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me tell you, I was absolutely GUTTED at how things went down in the BL route. On my first playthrough, I managed to recruit only one character from each of the other two houses (Dorothea from BE, and Ignatz from GD). Story-wise, it was a non-issue, because the loyalties to the other houses make sense. But then post-timeskip happened, and I started off one of the chapters knowing I'd have to kill Ferdinand and I. Literally. Screamed.
> 
> It didn't help that Dorothea makes a comment about it after the fact. Dammit, Dot!
> 
> Don't even get me started on the Battle of Gronder Field, because its first casualty in my BL playthrough was Bernie.
> 
> And now I'm having all of these ex-Black Eagles make the most painful decisions ever. Loyalty to house, blood, or ideology? That shit's all gray area, man.


	17. Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we hit the halfway point, and a certain swordsman rears his missing head.

**Interlude**

Curiosity isn’t really a trait one would attribute to Felix Hugo Fraldarius.

It was more Sylvain’s purview than his. The damnable man and his constant questions exasperated him to no end, and if things had played out differently, Felix was sure Sylvain would have made a better right hand to Dimitri than the Fraldarius heir. Sylvain was definitely more curious, and definitely all too eager to turn over every stone. Felix got by without the need to dig too deeply, not when he had spies and scouts to do that for him. The Sword of Faerghus need not be  _ curious _ , per se, so long as he is efficient.

But when he’d uncovered a set of journals from  _ his  _ Bernadetta, ones he hadn’t read before, ones that had been sent specifically  _ for him _ , Duke Felix Hugo Fraldarius, posthumously, anonymously,  _ mysteriously _ ...well. Of course he’d damn well be curious.

The day before he’d set off without a word, he’d pored through the two journals sent to him. They’d been interesting enough of a read, and they’d been written on those years where he’d lost track of her. If there’s something Felix knew about past history, it’s that they were bound to show up again. Annoyingly, he was right every single time.

History and Felix didn’t exactly have a good relationship, but he dealt with it as it came. Now one of the things he would need to deal with was the contents in the journal.

Contents that spoke of conspiracies afoot and cities lost to the past. Contents that started with the Tragedy of Duscur and led to the birth of the Flame Emperor. To the eradication of the Empire and Alliance. To the aftermath of the Fodlan Unification. To the secret organizations still lurking in the depths.

Bernadetta was a good writer, and Felix had been proud of the fiction she wrote. He wasn’t a big reader, but he did often listen to her musings as she grappled through a couple of scenes. He’d pointed out to her where things fell through unrealistically in her realistic but fictional environments. Yet when it came down to it, everything she’d written--save her journals, which she would have  _ never  _ published--was fictional.

These journals were  _ different.  _ They were most certainly  _ not  _ fiction.

And who the hell would send these to  _ him _ of all people?!

“Is there something the matter, Your Grace?” asked a dignitary, who’d talked Felix’s ear away for the past half hour. Felix had listened to him for the best part of ten minutes, but his thoughts had wandered back to the journals on his desk. “You seem distracted. Should we postpone our talks to a later time?”

He looked at the dignitary. It was not lost on him that many of the nobles squirmed whenever he stared too long at them. Felix would never admit, however, that he does it for the express reason of  _ making  _ them uncomfortable.

It’s certainly worked enough times to chase most of the mundane requesters away. Goodness knows how many of them come up on a daily basis.

“Er...Your Grace?” squeaked the dignitary.

After several more seconds, Felix responded. “No need, Count Nuvelle. I will put the matter of your trading contracts with Albinea in front of His Majesty. Have somebody deliver the documents to me with your seal, and I shall pass it along to Fhirdiad.”

“Ah, thank you, Your Grace!” the dignitary bowed. “It shall be done!”

“Now, if there is anything else?” Felix’s form of dismissal had been honed as well as his blade. His question was not meant to be responded to with a second request, and most of the dignitaries who dealt with him knew this.

Unfortunately, Count Nuvelle was not one of those dignitaries. “Well, there is the matter of annexing the Brionac Plateau--”

Felix rubbed his forehead. “Count Nuvelle, the Brionac Plateau is a Church matter, for which I have  _ no jurisdiction  _ over. I believe we have time and time returned to this topic.”

“Yes, but you  _ could  _ put in a good word to Her Esteemed--”

_ Perhaps  _ you  _ could _ , Felix thought sourly,  _ shove your trading contracts down your throat _ . “No, Count Nuvelle. Her Esteemed Archbishop has an entire Church to run, and border disputes are the  _ least  _ of her problems. Consider the matter heard once again, and rejected. Once again.  _ That. Is. All _ .”

If the dignitary hadn’t heard Felix’s subtle dismissal the first time around, he certainly did this time. Count Nuvelle bit his lip, bowed, and backed away from the room. The guard in front closed the door after the count’s exit, and Felix slumped into his chair. He sighed.

Almost two decades ago, he’d been in his prime, a swordsman of renown, the Sword that cut down His Majesty’s enemies, beasts and warriors alike. On most days now, he’d be hard-pressed to find any worthy adversary, and not even the occasional bandit attacks excited him. But with Bernadetta’s journals--which were undoubtedly hers if not by her tone of voice, but by her handwriting--perhaps things will prove a challenge to him.

He looked distastefully at the papers on his desk, papers that needed to be signed or discarded, some to be shipped to Fhirdiad for further perusal by the king. Perhaps the paperwork would have been lessened, had he stayed in the capital with the royal council and his highly trained secretaries, but matters in Fraldarius also needed tending to, what with his daughter gallivanting north with Ingrid. Paperwork was the part of his job as Dimitri’s right hand that was the most grueling.

It bored him almost to tears.

More than once, Felix asked himself how he wound up in this mess in the first place. He had antagonized Dimitri for  _ years _ . And yet, when the Unification War ended, it was  _ Felix  _ who Dimitri sought out to be his right hand. Not Sylvain. Definitely  _ not  _ Dedue. Felix Hugo Fraldarius.

_ “Why?” Felix had asked long ago. _

_ “After all that we’ve seen and done, do you really need a reason?” Dimitri responded. “Felix, deny it as well as you can, but you are a Fraldarius through and through. Rodrigue and Glenn--” _

_ “Leave my father and brother out of this.” _

_ “Shut up and listen, for once!” _

_ “Not until you can curb that temper, Boar.” _

_ “I--” Dimitri paled and he stopped talking then. That alone stopped Felix in his tracks, because if Dimitri were indeed the Boar Prince he so very much despised, this man before him was a bit more subdued. It...surprised Felix more than anything. “Look, I need someone combative. Someone who isn’t afraid to take me to the side and chastise me for acting brashly. That’s  _ you _ , Felix.” _

_ “Sylvain can do the same thing.” _

_ The newly appointed King of Faerghus had shaken his head. “He can, but he’s a  _ soldier _ . He’s more valuable to me as a general than an advisor.” _

_ Felix had looked at him incredulously. “And you want me as council? I’m a  _ swordsman _ , Dimitri, not one of your noble-minded bureaucrats. Get Ferdinand, then.” _

_ “Felix,  _ please _ .” _

_ Felix heard the begging in Dimitri’s voice. Now that  _ really  _ surprised him. “Goddess, you  _ are  _ truly serious about this.” _

_ “If I wasn’t, I’d have never asked,” Dimitri had said softly. “You’re my foil, Felix, and you know it.” _

_ Felix had snorted. “Don’t let your soon-to-be-queen hear that. She might get jealous.” _

_ Dimitri had beamed. “So you’re accepting?” _

_ “So long as I am still allowed a hand in fighting a number of battles on the field. You can’t completely take my blades away from me,” Felix had said. _

_ “Done. Felix, I...thank you.” _

Felix blinked a few times, threw his hands up in frustration. Blades, blood, and battle, he had once said. Now he could add bureaucracy into that crazy mix. He groaned. Perhaps he just needed to blow off steam.

That was how he found himself walking to the training grounds.

The Fraldarius training grounds was a far cry bigger than the one at Garreg Mach Monastery, and that was largely due to Felix’s insistence on the constant need to be ready for conflict. Each section of the training grounds had been designated to a weapon specialist. It prevented mixing disciplines and giving focus to one area after the other. For mixed weapons training, Felix had sequestered an arena not unlike the one at Garreg Mach. This was where he went.

The arena often had its fair share of soldiers. Some watched sparring sessions on the sidelines, and others took part in mock battles. When Felix walked in, he was greeted with a few waves and brief nods. There was no doubt that the reigning Duke of Fraldarius had entered, but there was no pomp or ceremony. No stuffy nobleman looking to talk bureaucracy with him. It was Felix’s favorite part of his holdings.

“Come for a round, Felix?” Riesling was one of his warmaster generals, a tall, burly man built powerfully like Dedue, with a head of red hair and a pair of amused brown eyes. “The boys were just finishing up.” With a salute, the two young grapplers moved away from the arena, chatting cordially with each other after their match.

“One bout, yes,” Felix said. He could never pass up a sparring session, especially when he trained much less these days.

“Weapons of choice?”

He grinned. “Bring them all in. Maybe I’ll surprise you.”

Riesling laughed. “As you wish, Your Grace.”

The two removed their doublets, with Riesling bellowing for a squire to bring an assortment of weapons to them. Felix placed his own swords down, choosing instead to handle a bow. He hefted the weapon back and forth, adjusting his stance to the weight, plucking the bowstring with gloved fingers. Normally, his weapons of choice went to the sword and axe, to the Crest magic coursing through his veins. But he was feeling nostalgic.

“Interesting choice, sir,” Riesling said, raising an eyebrow. “Got a lot on your mind today?”

“The usual.”

“I disagree,” his general said, plucking a lance from the weapons pile. “I’ve sparred with you long enough to know your moods by the weapon. The sword is your  _ usual _ , and magic is a close second. Heck, when you start going at me with your bare hands, I know some old blue blood’s got your cloak in a twist. But the bow?” He taps the ground with the lance and assumes a defensive posture. “You’ve got your lady in mind. Don’t get distracted, Felix,”

Riesling didn’t wait for a curt response. He ran forward, and Felix readied the bow for striking at close range.

The two of them kept at it, attacking and defending, strike after strike, and Felix--as  _ distracted _ as he’d been--gave as good as he got. Few people these days could match Felix’s prowess in combat, and Riesling came very close to doing so. With a bow, even the Duke of Fraldarius was at a sore disadvantage.

But they  _ were  _ at the arena, and in the arena, all is fair in thrusting and parrying.

Lightning burst forth from Felix’s fingertips, ending the bout before Riesling could land a final blow. The warmaster general bowed. “Excellent form as usual, Your Grace. Though next time, I ask that you try really hard  _ not  _ to singe my beard.”

Felix chuckled. “Only if you try not to intentionally impale me with a lance.”

“Och, can’t blame a man for getting carried away. Besides, harder to do when you’re a few steps ahead of me. Nice footwork, by the by.”

“Thanks for the session,” Felix said, wiping the sweat from his face with a towel one of the squires brought for him. “I needed it.”

“Looks like you needed much more’n that,” Riesling said. “What’s on your mind, Felix?”

He shook his head. “Too many personal things, Ries. Preferably I would have liked to have spoken with my daughter about such matters.”

“Ah, but the little duchess is away,” Riesling mused. “Gone until the next moon, I think.”

Felix nodded. “In any case, it can’t be helped. I won’t be long in Fraldarius Territory, so likely I won’t see her before she arrives. I’ll make sure to get her some new sword or dagger when I return from the capital.”

“Another weapon?” Riesling raised an eyebrow. “You sure she wants any of that now?”

“Have you  _ seen  _ her? I swear she collects just as much weaponry as she does Ferdinand.

His general chuckled. “Would you have preferred she collect books, then?”

Felix grimaced. “Those are definitely less expensive. But what’s the point? Our library is extensive as is. Courtesy of my late wife.”

“Fair point.”

“I suppose I should bring back something for that Almyran husband of Fey’s,” Felix grumbled. “Where  _ is  _ he, anyway? Haven’t seen him all week.”

Riesling shrugged. “You know Curan. He flies back and forth between here and Riegan these days. With the little duchess away, he’s in Derdriu, mayhap giving the Lady Judith a terribly difficult time.”

“I see. I suppose it can’t be helped.” Felix stood, shook Riesling’s hand, and made for his chambers.

He looked at the journals on his bed, pondering his next steps. The bag he had taken with him for his trip from the capital had hardly been opened, and most of the extra clothes and armor was still packed away. Felix knew that he could leave at any time and be ready for any amount of journey.

So he packed the journals, ordered a servant to provide him dried meats and water. Once the sun had set, once dinner had been served and the halls thinned of visitors and friends, Felix slipped out of his chambers, climbed the steps to the upper floors, and saddled his wyvern.

He took one parting glance at Fraldarius territory, at the clouds that signalled rain, at the sky that would have been dotted with stars if not for the approaching precipitation. Then he rose to the sky and flew. Not west, not back to Fhirdiad like what Riesling and the other servants had thought.

Felix Hugo Fraldarius had one stop to make first, so his wyvern headed south.

That may have been a mistake.

* * *

Felix groaned as he woke.

His head throbbed violently, and everything in his body screamed in complaint as he tried to sit himself up. He licked his parched lips and tasted a coppery stickiness on his upper lip. He tried to remember the events of the last few days.

Or was it last few moons?

His eyes adjusted to where he sat, and he noticed the unnaturally luminous glow of the light at his feet. Markings scrawled along the border of the lights, and in the distance, he could see a door. The room looked like it had been carved smooth by unnatural magic, and the cold obsidian floor made him shiver. More than once he wished they hadn’t taken his cloak from him.

Who  _ were  _ his mysterious attackers, anyway?

He leaned his head on the wall, closed his eyes in order to piece what he could from his own memory.

Arrival at Varley in the dead of night. He hadn’t intended to stay long, just long enough to sneak in and procure journals from Bernadetta’s old rooms. He hadn’t let anyone know of his whereabouts, because honestly, he needed the  _ damn privacy _ , which he never got anymore. When he found the journals wedged away in floorboards, he’d taken them out and began cross-examining them along with the two that he’d brought with him.

Perusal of said journals. He’d gotten so absorbed in Bernadetta’s accounts of the Duscur region that he hadn’t picked up the slight noise at first. When he finally did, he emerged from Bernadetta’s old room and made his way outside, sword and Aegis Shield in hand. He cursed himself when he made it outside.

In his hurry to investigate, he’d forgotten his second Relic in Bernadetta’s room.  _ That _ sword may have helped a bit more when he got ambushed.

But then again, it may have not. The roar of a Demonic Beast alarmed him, as there’d been little mention of them since Lord Arundel had been killed years back.

One Beast would have been beatable. But three and several masked gremories?

Someone had planned all this, he thought, as the gremories cast their spell, and the next thing he knew, there was darkness all around him.

Felix groaned again.

“Where am I?” he said aloud, though to whom was another matter entirely. The room--cell?--he found himself in was massive enough and too dark to see anything but the small area illuminated around him.

A hoarse laugh. “You. You’re not from here.”

Felix swiveled his head, searching for the voice. A hunched bundle of black feathers and black robes rose from the corner. “Who’s there?”

“No one you would know,” said the hoarse voice. Felix discerned that the owner was an older woman, though from the veil that covered her face and the low voice she’d addressed him with, it was difficult to see and confirm. “Another sacrifice to the great plan.”

“The...great plan.”

“The world made new. Agartha rises once more, a flame bursting from the darkness.”

“Lovely,” Felix murmured. Of the one person who could illuminate him on the situation, he’d gotten stuck with someone sputtering stuff and nonsense. “And why haven’t you joined your...Agarthan friends?”

The dark bundle coughed, laughed again. “I...am not satisfactory enough to fight with my brethren. Instead I play my own role here within these tombs.”

Felix tested his arms and legs, and found that there was a chain running from one end of the wall to his wrist. He tested the weight of the chains and found that it was just as smooth as the floor. Again, made of almost the same material as the walls and the floor. Obsidian? No. Something close. Agarthium, he thought. One of the rarer metals, but he’d never seen so much in abundance.

Not even Dimitri’s best blacksmiths use Agarthium on a regular basis. And yet, here Felix was, sitting in a chamber made of the stuff.

Just who  _ were  _ these Agarthans?

More than once, Felix wished he’d been as well read in his histories as Annette and Lysithea, or Claude even. Any of those three would know what to do and say in this situation. Instead, he was the one floundering in a place completely alien to him.

“Are you...are you here to guard me, then?” he asked. Other than the Agarthium metal around his wrist, Felix didn’t seem to detect any other sentries around him. He guessed whatever role this woman was filling, it wasn’t very important.

And if the Agarthans wrote Felix off as useless in a trapped environment, they would be sorely disappointed. Already he began running situations in his head, choosing which sort of reckless or cautious behavior to take to escape from his binds.

The woman let out what Felix thought was a snort. “Why would I be made to guard  _ you _ ? You, who are inferior to the mighty Agarthan people. No. I do not  _ need  _ to guard you.”

“Huh. So you’re a prisoner, like me.”

“I AM NO PRISONER.”

The shrillness of the Agarthan’s voice had a tinge of fear to its anger, which Felix found particularly interesting. He smelled the challenge, and he couldn’t help but grin at the thought. “You don’t seem too sure about that.”

“You are  _ mistaken _ , lowly filth!” the woman continued. “I will rise like my brethren. My role has been written in the heavens!”

“Says the prisoner, who’s stuck here with  _ lowly filth _ , when the rest of her so-called brethren are elsewhere,” Felix responded, putting as much sarcasm in his tone as possible. “Perhaps they’ve forgotten about you.”

The Agarthan raises herself up, hisses, and makes to move toward him. “Pittacus is  _ never  _ to be forgotten!” She failed in getting very far, though, and it was Felix’s turn to laugh when he heard the chains rattle. She, too, was bound to the wall.

“I rest my case,” Felix said. “You’re no better than I. It seems that’s something Agarthans share with my kind. There’s always a hierarchy.”

A crackling in the corner. Within the second, a shot of light headed toward him, deflected only by the sheer force of magical will that Felix had managed to bring up. His Aegis would have completely nullified the attack against him, but then again, Felix had been taught by the best mages in Fhirdiad’s School of Sorcery. And, it turned out, his magic was still intact.

“What in Nemesis--”

Felix didn’t even wait for the Agarthan--Pittacus--to act again. He made his move, and his hands crackled with the energy that he’d been amassing since the conversation began.

Lightning illuminated the prison cell for a brief instant, and a screaming from the Agarthan reverberated around the cell. Somewhere nearby, large objects moved and thundered toward Felix. He would have to deal with those at some point, he supposed.

But he didn’t care. All he saw was an opportunity for escape. And he took it.

He shot the lightning toward Pittacus one more time, making sure it engulfed the woman, black feathers and all.

The shrieking stopped almost as quickly as it started.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know, I hadn't intended to give Felix much of a voice here, but by the time I'd written the last few chapters, I knew at this point I needed him to tell his side of the story.
> 
> I also am totally playing loosely now with the "what-ifs," especially since the BL route never fully resolved the Agarthan subplot. (Though I haven't fully finished my Golden Deer route either, so this'll be interesting!)


	18. Letters to Varley

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we witness a few letters sent during the war, and a very brief entry into the Millennium Festival meeting.

**LETTER TO THE ARCHBISHOP**

_ Archbishop Byleth Eisner Blaiddyd _

_ Garreg Mach Monastery, Unified Fodlan _

_ Garland Moon _

_ Her Esteemed Archbishop, _

_ I write on behalf of Uncle Syl to thank you for the chess set that was delivered to Gautier some days before. It was just fortunate that I was there when he opened it; especially because I was blocking the Lioness’ sight of it. _

_ Who knew even the Archbishop would have some humor? He hadn’t expected the crudeness of the pieces, but I pointedly reminded him that the Archbishop had to have  _ some  _ sort of humor considering how hefty her job is. Still, I congratulate you for the cleverness. I wonder who you managed to get to carve naked figures for each piece? I may have to commission them for Curan’s benefit. _

_ Suffice to say that Aunt Ingrid is never seeing  _ that _ chess set ever. _

_ On another matter, I hope the journals I sent to you give you some clarity. Uncle and I perused them, and we certainly saw the need for Father to head to Varley for the rest of her journals. He was trying to piece a mystery together, and I do think he was close to uncovering something. Unfortunately, he must have been interrupted. _

_ The Sword of Moralta glows under my hand, but it’s duller than I remember. I think it still waits for its actual owner. We also couldn’t find Father’s Aegis anywhere, so that gives me hope that Father is alive and well. Or, at best, alive and fighting to stay so. _

_ Mother never really talked about those five years before your reappearance, Aunt By, and from the looks of it, she barely wrote in her journals, either. However, she did keep tabs on several of her friends, and wrote letters regularly to them. Most of them were unsent. I think that had a lot to do with the war and the fact that the Empire had an embargo on messenger birds. _

_ She wrote my father several times for the first few years, though that number eventually started to dwindle. Mother had become too comfortable in seclusion, and she’d started her research, while Father...well,  _ busy _ can’t even describe what he was doing for those years during the war. _

_ I leave the letters in your capable hands, and hope you appreciate the journals as much as I do. If not as a source of information, but of insight. _

_ All my love, _

_ Felicity Glenn Fraldarius, Duchess _

_ Gautier Territory, Faerghus, Unified Fodlan _

* * *

Felix,

I hope this finds you well. I know that’s a silly thing to say, with a war going on, but I still hope, and that’s what counts, right?

Anyway, I never did thank you for what you did at Garreg Mach. It was...not easy navigating out of the monastery, and whatever you did to ensure that neither of us were caught...it worked.

I have heard back from Dorothea, and she is also safe. She returned to Enbarr in hopes of finding ways to help the commonfolk survive this war. The Emperor doesn’t bother her, because, well, Dorothea hasn’t really done  _ anything  _ to warrant being arrested for. Honestly, Edelgard has bigger worries up north.

Petra has not written back. I have every belief she made it out of Fodlan and back to Brigid, though. It was certainly a near thing, her escape on the pegasus, and I could have killed Caspar myself when he tried shooting her pegasus down with his crossbow.

Thankfully, Linhardt had the brains to stop him. It wasn’t worth it, raising a hand to a friend. Not then.

Now, I don’t know...the reality of this war changes people. I suppose that should be expected. Even I find myself thinking differently on matters that used to be black and white.

Don’t worry about me. I know you’d been hesitant to leave me in Varley, but I find it’s a bit more peaceful here, with my father gone. He’s still under close scrutiny in the capital. Edelgard sends me letters and soldiers in hopes that I--as the new head of House Varley--will join her cause, but she doesn’t push or force me. I think deep down--and you might disagree with me here--she’s still got some humanity left.

Please write back. I would like to know if you made it safely back to Fraldarius. To your father. Or Dimitri.

Bernadetta

P.S. Have you heard from Ferdinand? His plan had been to head north, but I’m not sure if he meant towards Kingdom or Alliance territory. With how things ended for him and Hubert, I imagine he’d want to be as far away from the Empire as possible.

* * *

Bernadetta,

Things are not well in the capital.

My father intercepted me before I made it to Blaiddyd Territory. It appears that Fhirdiad has been overrun with Empire supporters, Cornelia being one of them. She’s managed to assassinate the Grand Duke, and rumors have it that she’s blaming this assassination on Dimitri. I could believe many atrocities being the Boar Prince’s fault, but this murder? It’s not in his best interest. Not even for revenge.

Dimitri has been imprisoned and under heavy guard. I don’t know where Dedue is, but if he’s around, I would like nothing more than to conduct a prison break. As is, Father needs me in Fraldarius territory. Gautier and Fraldarius must stand strong against this supposed Dukedom that Cornelia is proposing to Edelgard. That means taking on responsibilities I long thought would never come.

Ferdinand did indeed make it north. I’ve sent him on to Gautier. Sylvain needs von Aegir’s skill with the lance more than I do. It is strange, to be commanding forces and friends, but I suppose war does make for strange bedfellows.

Should your situation change, and Edelgard becomes more forceful in her actions, please send word immediately. I will send several wyvern knights if I have to.

I am glad you are safe. See that it stays that way.

Felix

* * *

Lady Bernadetta von Varley,

I am deeply gratified that you asked about me! In truth, I was unsure whether to send you a letter at all. Felix had tried to dissuade me, insisting that further missives might compromise your situation, but sometimes he becomes overly surly over certain matters.

All the same, I’ve sent this through the most secure route I can. Through the Alliance’s own network. Rest assured that Claude is more than happy to assist on that matter.

I have news of our friends, though many of them have scattered since Dimitri was condemned to death. It pains me to say, but his execution is fast approaching, and none of us have any plans--or means--to spring him free.

Resources are thin, and with Faerghus’ divided loyalties, it is down to the three great houses in the north to prevent Cornelia from utterly dominating its subjects. Gautier and Fraldarius have held their own, and Galatea has risen to the challenge. I believe Ingrid is to thank for bringing her house to the fray, though the Count is certainly no daisy, either. He’s helming most of the wyvern forces, so I hear.

Annette and Lysithea have been training the mages in the north to fight back. They do so in secret, because many of them have been sent back to Fhirdiad for some reconnaissance work. I do not know the specifics, but Sylvain and Felix are working on some sort of plan.

Mercedes returned to Daphnel to find some truth about the Death Knight. Ignatz went with her. I believe his plan was to see her safely into Alliance territory prior to going back to his family to work. War is, after all, a booming trade.

Ashe has vanished. My guess is Ashe has returned to House Rowe in search of answers. The events surrounding Lord Lonato has bothered him since. Catherine has disappeared as well, so my theory seems truer by the minute. As for Dedue, there are more rumors flying by the minute. Some say Dedue is dead. Others say that he’s been imprisoned with the king. Still others say he’s run off west, toward Kleiman, to find Duscur soldiers who can still fight.

Whatever the case, this is all I’ve gathered. The Alliance sends some support, but with Claude ascending to his role as the new leader, he has more on his plate than most. There are changes afoot, Bernadetta, and I will try to keep you apprised of them when I can.

Thank you for thinking of me, and I hope this letter finds you well.

Yours truly,

Ferdinand von Aegir

P.S. I know it’s too much to ask, but what is the news at Enbarr?

* * *

Felix,

Thank you for sending the letter from Ferdinand on! He’s desperate for news here, though I have a sneaking suspicion that’s a blanket statement for asking about specifics on Aegir and, well, Hubert, I imagine. Don’t scowl, nobody can help who they end up loving. Not even in war.

I can’t tell him much else. I’ve sequestered myself inside Varley. I have, however, sent Dorothea a small letter, and she’s most likely received some news of what’s been happening  _ in the capital _ , hint hint, wink wink.

Oh, who am I kidding, things aren’t good. I hate to say it, but there are a lot of Empire loyalists. What I can say is that there has been a number of activities happening at Garreg Mach lately, and I’ve heard that Ladislava is back. You don’t know her, but everyone in the Empire does, even me. She’s become part of the Emperor’s personal guard, and is formidable. No, don’t even think of fighting her right now.

Don’t panic, but Edelgard has sent more troops to Varley. It’s not to recruit me, I will tell you that. She’s requested that I keep the troops here as lookouts. Randolph von Bergliez--Caspar’s uncle by marriage--has been put in charge. I think she wants him to keep track of movements within Garreg Mach. So please be careful, and let the other Kingdom supporters know that they’re being watched.

The Empire troops don’t bother me otherwise. They know I send letters out, and I have a sneaking suspicion that once or twice, they’vee snooped through my mail to see if I’m sending anything to the Alliance or Kingdom supporters. No such luck on their end. All my letters are hidden inside embroideries, after all. All they think I’m doing is sending out parcels of patched clothing to Empire troops across Fodlan. Hah. Way to pull that off, Bernie.

I don’t hear much of news from you. Are things well? Please make sure you’re getting some rest. I know it’s a war and all, but if you’re not at your best, we’re going to get one cranky Felix and a lot of dead bodies. Heh. Sorry, that came off badly!

But admit it, someone dying around you is highly probable. Especially if you haven’t rested.

When next you write back, please try not to send your overcoat as the clothing to be patched. It’s becoming suspicious if I’m sewing through the same custom-made overcoat over again. And it kind of makes you look like someone who can’t keep his clothes on. No, strike that. Gah!

Bernadetta

* * *

Felix,

Is everything okay? You have not written in moons. I have not heard any news in  _ moons _ . I’m beginning to think things are going really, really badly.

Tell me you’re still alive. Send me a sign. Anything.

Please.

Bernadetta

* * *

Bernadetta,

Dimitri is dead.

The news came to us through one of Annette’s mages. He was sentenced and killed in his prison. Like an animal. A Boar Prince.

Frankly, it was not the death I envisioned for him. Now we are without a king.

Sylvain still holds out hope, since the news came to us secondhand. I wish not to dwell on either truth or falsehood. I just know that we need to keep moving forward. King or no king, what the Empire is doing is still unacceptable. Father and I will continue to fight, as will the other two houses. Blaiddyd may have fallen, but Gautier, Fraldarius, and Galatea have not.

Felix

* * *

Felix,

Oh Goddess. I’m so sorry.

Bernadetta

* * *

Lady Bernadetta von Varley,

My dear Bernadetta, I know you were expecting a letter from Felix, but things are escalating north.

Edelgard’s forces are being stretched thin, but her numbers are still high. While she continues to fight a battle on two fronts, we in the north are trying to muster forces however we can. It becomes difficult now that we have no king to stand behind.

Thankfully, the Church has roused itself, and Seteth has made his way to us. He is intending to fight. Mostly, I think he is looking for Lady Rhea. She has been missing for over a year now.

Felix has left Fraldarius. He found Ashe, and both of them have been taking on scouting missions across what is left of the Kingdom Territory. I foresee this will be a long war, and it might take much longer to hear from him. I hope you understand. He was very adamant that I tell you this.

Dorothea has sent me her own letters, so I thank you again for putting her in touch with me! It saddens me that news is no better south of here, but we do what we must. Perhaps in another life, there is a better situation for all of us.

Stay safe, as always.

Ferdinand von Aegir

* * *

Felix,

There has been news of a mysterious and monstrous man roaming the Kingdom, killing off Empire soldiers in various places. They’re calling him the Phantom Lion on account of how gruesomely he leaves his victims.

Half of me thinks this is frightening, but the other half also thinks that this might be good news for all of you.

Do you think it’s Dimitri?

Bernadetta

* * *

Bernadetta,

It’s been a while, hasn’t it? I hope whatever trouble you’ve gotten yourself into hasn’t been too much. I did appreciate you sending me your last manuscript. I’m always so touched when you’re  _ finally  _ letting me read your work!

One day I’ll find the time to critique it again, like the old days. Don’t you miss those?

Anyway, I’m sending this to you to let you know that it’s almost the Millennium Festival. Remember that promise we all made to Dimitri back when he was still a prince? It’s a little weird to want to dredge up that particular part of the past, but the Festival would be in a few weeks.

I plan to go, as does Ingrid. I think we need to honor something,  _ anything _ . This war has taken its toll, and I am  _ tired _ , Bernadetta. Tired of endlessly fighting with no hope to gain anything from the other side. I know it’s selfish of me to complain, especially with all the death around me. But you understand, don’t you?

In any case, I think Felix also plans to go back to Garreg Mach. I think we all do.

It might be too much to ask, but I know we’d like you there with us, too.

Sylvain Jose Gautier

P.S. Your Phantom Lion theory might not be wrong. I’m half afraid it  _ is  _ Dimitri gone mad, but having a king is what we need to bolster forces.

* * *

Bernadetta,

Headed to Garreg Mach Monastery. You know when. It’s dangerous, but I’m not asking you to stay hidden away in safety. I’m asking you to do the opposite.

Felix

* * *

**Ethereal Moon, 1185**

There is a danger to all my letters being found, and it becomes increasingly so the more I write. So I stop them.

I know that if I don’t leave Varley now, I will never be able to know whether they’ve all gone to Garreg Mach. I will never be able to know if the Phantom Lion is who I think it is.

I also know that if I don’t go now, those going to Garreg Mach will be blindsided by the troops Randolph has stationed in Varley. It’s a silly logic, but I act on that.

So first, I need to see a man about a wyvern.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's something about letter-writing that's really fun to do. Especially when you're working with different characters. I know this was mostly inspired by a book depending solely on letters and documented accounts, but the last book I read was a book about World War II, so you can imagine what's been inspiring me at the moment.
> 
> It's also fun trying to contemplate what each person did before Byleth came back to Garreg Mach. Life and war did go on for these people, and I wanted to get a bit of that in this story. It also greatly pleased me when they all made their way back to the Monastery for a promise made five years prior. There's a magic in that.


	19. Guardian Moon, 1186

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bernie makes her way to Garreg Mach and sees the effects of war.
> 
> Or that time we finally reunite with the bitches in blue.

**GUARDIAN MOON, 1186**

Reunions are a funny business. It becomes increasingly strange when the place you used to call home has changed. And for the worse.

I arrived at Garreg Mach soon after many of the Blue Lions did. From the looks of things, they were still gathering the bodies of dead and burying them in an outside extension of the graveyard. 

I grow nervous over the amount of dead soldiers within the monastery. Most of those I see had been long dead, decaying even, and the smell is the first thing that sends me reeling.

“Lady Bernadetta!” the gatekeeper waves. “You’ve returned! Shall I send a sentry to the interim Archbishop?”

He must have seen the look of confusion on my face, because he chuckles. “Ah, sorry, I thought that was why you came back. I figured you’d heard the news. Professor Byleth has returned!”

Clearly now I’m looking at him like he’s grown two heads, because he is beaming at me as though he’s relishing my supreme confusion. “It’s true! She returned during the Millennium Festival. As did most of the Kingdom troops. If you want, I can--”

“No! Uh, no thanks. I think I can make my way to the receiving room. There  _ is  _ still a receiving room, right?” A thought strikes me. “And the training grounds? That still exists, right?”

“Of course! Much of Garreg Mach has seen a little wear and tear, but you’ll be glad to know that most of the space on the dormitory side have been preserved. As have the classrooms. Not even the bandits occupying this area have had any use for the library.”

I sigh with relief. “That’s good to hear.” The best news I’ve heard all day, really.

“Uh...Lady Bernadetta, if you will,” the gatekeeper says, hesitant at first. His mirth is all gone, but he nods. “I would steer clear of the chapel for now. It’s mostly rubble now, and...well, Prince Dimitri has expressly commanded us to keep away from him.”

Okay. I drew the line ages ago with Professor Byleth, but Dimitri is here, too?! Goddess.

I school my emotions this time, and I nod, thanking him before heading down the entrance hall. When I reach the entrance to the mess hall, I hesitate. After making my way this far into Garreg Mach, it dawns on me that I’m not quite sure where to go. Do I visit the old classrooms? Do I head to my old room? The greenhouse?

Do I look for Professor Byleth? For--

“Bernie!”

There is joy and surprise and relief in that small tone, and I turn to see Dorothea before she tackles me to the ground. The red of her gown matches the red jeweled choker that’s staring me right in the face.

I am smothered by hugs. If I didn’t already die from the risk of getting to Garreg Mach, Dorothea will have definitely killed me.

Up until I get pulled out of my predicament by another pair of hands.

“Dorothea, perhaps you should be waiting to greet her like that after she has time to be seeing you.” Petra is brushing me down and examining me. “You are looking well, Bernadetta!”

“Petra!” I say, unable to contain the glee in my voice. “I am  _ so  _ glad to see you both!”

“Say, you  _ do  _ look amazing, Bernie!” Dorothea has the chance to examine me now, and I’m not sure whether to blush or be pleased. “I love what you did to your hair. And your clothes. And, well, just generally  _ everything _ .”

“Heh, years in seclusion gave me some time to craft my own wardrobe,” I mumble, pleased that Dorothea of all people notice the changes.

“ _ And  _ you made your own outfit, too? I’m in love again!”

I can’t help it. I giggle. “I missed you too, Dorothea.”

“You must be having stories to tell!” Petra says. “Shall we be hearing them as we eat?”

I shake my head. I know exactly where to go from here, and if I sit down and eat...well, my stomach is already twisting and turning in knots. “Eating can wait. I’ve got someone I’m looking for.”

“Truly?”

Dorothea glances at me and winks. She takes Petra by the shoulder. “Oh, I can  _ guess _ . Come on, Petra, I’m hungry, so we can catch up, too. It’s been a long journey for you as well!”

The two of them head over to the Mess Hall, and I find myself walking further away, towards the northwest corner of the monastery.

I pass many people by. I make it to the courtyard and see Ingrid having a conversation with Ignatz, who waves as he sees me. Annette squeals when she turns the corner, and she also has no compunctions about throwing herself at me for a hug. I am pleased to see that she is still her bubbly self, though from the looks of it, the war has taken its toll on her, as it did to many of us.

I don’t stay long chatting with Annette. I do have a purpose, and I continue to the training grounds.

I find who I’m after, and thensome.

Sylvain, Ferdinand, Professor Byleth, and Felix are inside with a new training master. As I enter, the training master is setting up a match between Sylvain and Felix, with Professor Byleth--who is definitely alive and looking like she hasn’t aged one iota--and Ferdinand--who grew out his hair, which looks pretty good with his red cloak--watching on the side. I can’t help but be transfixed as the two men draw their blades; a lance for Sylvain, a sword for Felix.

The two begin their sparring by circling each other. Just the way they get into their stances is familiar, and it strikes me that they’ve done this more often than not. It makes sense, because they’ve been fighting together since the war began, and the two must have sparred often in the north.

Change took over us all during the last five years. Sylvain is a little less unkempt, but his messy red curls are still there, albeit shortened and made more prominent in his darkly-colored armor. He looks to be in his element, dancing around the arena, the lance in his hand an extension of his body. He moves swiftly for a man in armor, and I can’t help but be amazed at the practice he’s been getting.

Felix, on the other hand, opts out of wearing any form of visible armor. In place of a knight’s chestplate and vambraces, he has his blue overcoat and cape shaping his form, with a warm black tunic underneath. The look is further enhanced by the belt and jumper he is using to strap his swords to the side.

I cannot stop looking at him and feeling pleased. Back when I had put his outfit together, I thought it might have looked too big on him, and before the war, I had planned on making adjustments to better tailor the outfit to the person. I am now glad I didn’t have to, because he’s wearing the darn thing and  _ looking great _ .

I try not to blush, and I back away, more interested in the bout than I should have been.

The two continue to exchange blows, and the sparring starts to move more swiftly. They seemed almost on par with each other, with the slight difference of height and speed. Sylvain truly does know what to do with the lance, and at first glance, it is clear he has an advantage on reach and defense.

But let it not be said that Felix can’t work around that.

The swordsman gains the attention of the rest of the training hall, and soon a few soldiers gather, hollering at one or the other, cheering them both on. Byleth and Ferdinand murmur together, up until they both see me, and Ferdinand beams.

“Bernadetta von Varley! You have finally arrived!”

If I hadn’t been watching the sparring so intently, I might have missed the slight stumble in Felix’s attack. But I don’t, and it’s clear he hears Ferdinand, too.

Sylvain also stumbles, puzzled by Felix’s movements. However, he recovers a little later than Felix does, and it’s enough to end the bout. Sylvain’s lance gets knocked out of his hands, and the swordsman swoops Sylvain down to the ground in some kind of elegant sword movement. I can’t even describe it, it went way too quickly.

I decide that it would be even more awkward if I was still staring at them, so I force my eyes away and head toward Ferdinand and the professor.

“Bernadetta, I’m so glad you came to join us,” Professor Byleth began. She looks unsure about the protocol in greeting me, but decides finally to pat me on the shoulder, just as Ferdinand approaches and gives me a quick peck on both cheeks.

“Professor, hi!”  _ She is alive. So very alive _ . “I--you’re  _ alive _ .”

The excitement is punctuated by Sylvain and Felix approaching us, and I stiffen somewhat when Sylvain grabs me by the shoulders and pulls me up for a bear hug. I squeak, then laugh. “Bernadetta, my lady! I am so glad to see you.  _ And  _ can I say how well the years have treated you? You look absolutely stunning!”

I roll my eyes. “Dorothea and Petra beat you to  _ that _ . I’ve heard it already.”

“He’s not wrong,” Felix says.

Sylvain grins. “I get things right from time to time, you know. And I appreciate that you see things my way for once, Felix!”

Damn it, Felix, I do  _ not  _ want to hear flattery from him in front of everyone!

The swordsman eyes me up and down, and whatever confidence I manage to gain from all the endearing words takes a bit of a hit. The scrutiny doesn’t last long, though, and he shifts his feet, nods. “I am...glad that you made it safely here. Things have gotten dangerous outside of the monastery.”

No kidding. “I saw the soldiers being buried outside. Those were your doing?”

“You flatter me,” Felix says flatly. “You can blame  _ that thing _ for most of it.”

“What thing?”

Sylvain made to respond, but Professor Byleth shakes her head.

“Felix, enough,” Professor Byleth says, clearly exasperated. “We can regale Bernadetta with your complaints later. For now, I think she needs some seeing to. I believe your quarters are still available, if you want that? And as for meals, we’re tightening our rations, but it hasn’t gotten bad enough as far as supplies go.”

Oddly enough, being in Garreg Mach now  _ is  _ like coming home, as though the years before had just been some sort of intermediary wait for a better situation. “I...would like to put my stuff in my old room, yes. If it’s okay, can I just meet you guys at the Mess Hall? You can all tell me about how the Millennium Festival went. And I--” The thought of Randolph and his sentries in Varley come to mind. “I do have a number of things to talk to you about, Professor.”

I bid my goodbyes for now and head toward the dormitories. It doesn’t take me long to realize Felix is following me.

He is silent until we reach the door to my room. I open the door, and I turn to him. “You um…”

“I half expected you to stay in Varley,” Felix admits, looking down.

I frown and match his gaze. “Whatever for?”

He shrugs. “You’ve locked yourself up for so long, I didn’t think you’d actually want to come out of hiding. Not even for…”

“Not even when you asked?” It strikes me then that he’s still, and his hand is gripping one of his swords tightly. What did  _ he  _ have anything to be nervous about?

He raises an eyebrow. “So you came because I asked? Is that it?”

“And Sylvain,” I point out. “And Ferdinand. And Dorothea. I came because you all asked, and I remembered our promise to Dimitri and the professor.”

“Ah.” Even after all this time, I still can’t quite discern the tone in his voice. “That’s something.”

“You didn’t follow me all the way here to interrogate me about why I’m back, did you? Do you think I’m an enemy? That I would sell you guys off to Edelgard? Oh gosh, you do, don’t you? You think that I’d debase myself after all these years just so I can get in good graces with an emperor who started--”

I don’t get far with this particular rambling, because Felix has me enveloped in a massive hug, and my nose is pressed to the crook of his arm. The feel of his overcoat is soft and warm, and I close my eyes, comforted by his heat and the smell of steel and snow and Felix.

We stand like that, wordless, and I make no move to push him away. It seems a natural order of things, to be greeted by someone who’s saved your life time and again. Whom you’ve written several times in the last five years.

Felix lets go, and I turn back to my room. It’s now me clenching my fist at something as I open my door further. I look back at him, and find that he’s still standing by the doorway. “I…”

“Get settled, Bernadetta,” he finally says. “We’ll talk later.”

As if talking is ever going to be the same  _ now _ , I groan to myself as I close my door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the award for best glow-up goes to...Bernadetta! (With Lorenz being a close second, hah!)
> 
> Honestly, though my favorite post time-skip outfits and looks are Felix (who will always be bae), Bernie, Claude (my second bae), Caspar, and Dimitri. To be honest, though, everyone does look put together by the second part that I have no complaints. Even Ignatz and Linhardt looked dope.


	20. Pegasus Moon, 1186

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bernie steps up and becomes more vocal about issues of war.
> 
> Or that time the Empire tries to invade Garreg Mach and actually fails.

**PEGASUS MOON, 1186**

“I can’t believe how long it’s been since I left home,” I murmur, sipping my tea and staring past the professor’s luminescent hair. “Since I was dragged out of the house, I mean. Five whole years. It’s weird to think about.” Even weirder to voice it aloud without flinching.

The professor tilts her head, stares at me in that scrutinizing way. I admit at first that the stare always gave me a bit of shivers, especially back during her first year at Garreg Mach. But now I know she means no harm by it. In fact, I find that it’s one of those things she does when she’s absorbing what someone has said. “Do you want to go back?”

I widen my eyes and almost spit my tea back out. “No! I…” I put the tea down. “But if you’d asked me  _ that  _ five years ago, I’d have said the opposite.”

I spread my arms wide, indicating everything beyond the garden cafe. “I...have friends here, and I have you to support me. The monastery’s become a home to me. Back then, I never would’ve dreamed a day like this would come.”

Professor Byleth gives me one of her rare smiles. “I’m really happy for you, Bernadetta.”

I smile back. “It’s really all thanks to you, you know. In a way, you’ve given me a second chance at life. If not for you, I never would have gotten used to leaving my room, let alone the monastery. All those teatimes and outings you’ve made me attend throughout our days in the academy...and, well, maybe the battlefield’s dulled my senses, too. I’m much better with strangers and new places now. I don’t panic nearly as much as before.”

“I have some independent work for you, then.”

“Now hold on a minute,” I grimace at her. “ _ Independent _ ? As in,  _ alone _ ?”

The idea of going out alone doesn’t bother me as much as I thought, but it’s still a scary prospect. “That...sounds like a tough assignment. Where did this come from all of a--” She starts to laugh and I know she’s just keeping a front. “You’re teasing me, aren’t you?! Please don’t joke around like that anymore! It’s  _ torture _ for me!”

“I...can’t commit to that,” she finally says.

“Come  _ on _ , Professor! I’m begging you! Promise me you won’t do that again. Friends respect each other’s feelings, don’t they?”

“Friends also call each other by their names,” Professor Byleth says. “If I promise not to tease you  _ too much _ , you’ll call me Byleth, yes?”

“Wh...what?”

“That’s my name. Byleth. Besides,” she says, steepling her fingers, this time her eyes move away from me. “I’m not your professor anymore. Haven’t been for five years now.”

“Still, that’s a bit much to ask. But...I’ll try, Pro--Byleth.”

The response elicits another rare smile, and I know it’s going to be easier to go forward from here.

We sip our tea in comfortable silence, and for a time, there is no worry in the world. However, the morning passes by, and I find that I can’t keep the information with me for too long.

“There’s still the matter of Varley and the presence of soldiers there,” I finally say. “I...escaped them quickly enough, but one of Randolph’s scouts will have already returned to Varley to let him know Garreg Mach has been repossessed by the Kingdom.”

“Randolph?”

“Randolph von Bergliez,” I shudder. Not so much because he’s a scary man--which he is--but that he’s Caspar’s uncle, and the thought of Caspar showing up to help Randolph lead a siege on the monastery is disturbing. “His family home is east of mine, and Edel--the Emperor has ordered him to remain at my home as lookout. But from the looks of it, he’s going to attack sometime soon.”

Byleth frowns. “Is there a way around fighting them? I have no quarrel with the Empire, save for those who are truly responsible. And I know we’ll have to defeat Edelgard eventually. But if we have to fight, we will. I just...I worry for…”

She doesn’t need to finish the sentence for me to guess who she worries for. I understand now why Felix is walking around the monastery pleading for Byleth to deal with  _ that thing  _ in the cathedral. No one quite knows how to approach Dimitri at the moment. As the gatekeeper suggested, I make it a point to avoid him. Which is fine, because I don’t think he even notices who’s in the monastery anymore.

Maybe he notices the professor, but if he gives any indication that he’s soft on her, I don’t see it.

“I worry for a lot of my old friends,” I say, close my eyes and think of the Black Eagles house, of Edelgard’s wary smiles and Hubert’s maniacal but strangely infectious laughter. I think of Linhardt’s constant laziness and bouts of brilliance. I think of Caspar’s eagerness to please and over-zealous approach to battle. “But I’ve resolved to fight back. Even if it hurts them. I think...I think Dimitri is the same way. Only, he’s lost his path.”

The professor sighs, leans back. She rubs her face with her hand, and nods. “You’re right. It’s been a terrible moon, and I’m not quite sure how to bring him back to his past state.”

To be honest, I don’t think the professor will ever be successful in bringing Dimitri back to his past state. If his childhood friends have yet to succeed now, what else could Byleth do, really? “I don’t think you should hinge on the past so much, Pro--Byleth. Whatever the man he used to be is mostly gone. But I think there’s something in him still worth...”  _ Saving _ . “Fighting for.”

I am reminded of the conversation I had with Sylvain five years ago. He’d voiced similar concerns about Miklan, and was convinced there was no saving him. I can’t help but feel this is the same case for the professor and Dimitri. Only, I don’t say the same things. I can’t.

Dimitri  _ has  _ to be saved. For his sake, and for ours.

“No, you’re right.” Byleth makes to stand. “Thanks for the tea and the wisdom, Bernadetta. I’m going to have to speak to Seteth about this upcoming invasion. I don’t want any of us to be blindsided by it.”

I stay seated in the garden, watching couples speak to each other with ease. It’s funny that you see more of them whispering sweet nothings to each other, now that there is urgency in finding love before death. I savor the rest of my tea, thinking about whether or not I did the right thing.

Perhaps it was better off if Randolph had managed to surprise us. Perhaps it wasn’t.

When you’re now just thinking of survival to the point of betraying another human being, does that make you inhuman?

I down the rest of my tea and leave, still pondering this thought.

* * *

We are not blindsided by the invasion, and Randolph dies as a result.

It should not be surprising. Death is the inevitable daughter of war, and the losing side has the most numbers lost. Yet I still regret what happened.

I am not present when Byleth and Dimitri walk back into the monastery grounds after the battle against Empire troops. I am not present when Byleth and Dimitri have a heated argument in the cathedral. Mostly, those who were nearby have been filling me in with what was said between the two. None of it was good.

I  _ am  _ present, however, when Byleth gathers us around the war chamber so that she can tell us that she made the executive decision to kill Randolph and not take him in as a prisoner.

That thought chills me to the very core. So much for being desensitized to death.

“Not...he wasn’t to be ransomed?” Randolph von Bergliez was an army  _ general _ , a valuable one to Edelgard for his staunch loyalty and ability. Killing him gave the Kingdom no leverage against the Empire. If anything, it gives the Empire more kindling to its fury.

Byleth shakes her head. “He left me no choice.”

Felix is beside me, and I can  _ feel  _ his anger in waves. It surprises me; Felix is almost  _ never  _ angry at Byleth. “Which  _ he _ ? Randolph von Bergliez or the monster who should have been king? Because this whole situation smells of wild boar to me.”

“ _ Randolph  _ gave me no choice.” The voice the professor used is steel and fury. She does not like being questioned, not even by someone who has every right to do so. “But therein lies the problem. He mentioned a sister before he died, and I’m wondering if his sister is an army general as well.”

I shake my head. “No, she’s a soldier, not a general. I didn’t see her at Varley with the other troops, so she’s probably back at the Capital.”

“Ah,” Byleth says. She glances at Seteth. “You would need to write a missive to…”

“Fleche,” Ferdinand says softly. “She’s a clerk in Enbarr. After Caspar’s father took the family name and title, Fleche and Randolph chose to take on trades at court. It might explain why Randolph worked to get the recognition as an army general.”

Dorothea scowls. “Typical of nobles to disregard those siblings once they no longer had a name to themselves.”

“That is unfair, Dorothea,” Ferdinand argues. “Both were still of von Bergliez, albeit further in line to inherit the family lands. And besides, I have great respect for both as people!”

“Regardless of how anyone feels on the matter,” Byleth interrupts, “A missive needs to be written to this...Fleche. Send her back Randolph’s armor and sword, and any other possessions he may have had. We are not monsters, so we will treat his death with  _ respect _ .”

No one speaks afterwards. Something must have happened during the Empire’s unsuccessful siege, because Professor Byleth is on edge and ready to pick fights. Dimitri is nowhere to be found, though our guess is that he’s returned to the ruined abbey inside the cathedral.

“Byleth…” I say before I turn to leave the war room. “Is...are you…?”

“I’ve killed so many people already,” Byleth begins, unmoving, staring up at the ceiling. “I’ve killed so many and I did not weep for any of them. Killing is what I know to do, Bernadetta. So why... _ why _ does this one death bother me so much?”

I stare. I know it’s not my business, and I know she’s probably just airing out her grievances, but I approach her and sit to the seat on the left. “Is this about you killing Randolph?”

“He was going to  _ torture  _ him.” It alarms me then how the professor looks. She is clenching the arm rests, her fingers pale. She is breathing too uneasily, shaking almost every other breath. “Dimitri, he...he was going to torture Randolph. And I couldn’t let him. I couldn’t let him be more of a...a  _ monster _ ...so I ended it. I ended Randolph’s misery. I did it to stem the growth of a bigger darkness.”

It completely explains why she gets in an argument with Dimitri. It completely explains her conscience and need to set the record straight. “I’m so sorry, Byleth,” I say, unable to think of anything comforting to say.

“It’s just,” she takes a breath. “This isn’t...I should never have disappeared five years ago.”

“That’s hardly  _ your  _ fault, you know.”

She shakes her head. “I know. But all the same. If I could have turned the hands of time that far, I would have. I would have just to save Dimitri from all of this.”

It occurs to me that she isn’t shaking because she feels  _ bad  _ for Randolph. It occurs to me that all of what she’s done in the past few weeks, in the past few days, has been to rouse Dimitri from his mania. Even now, she thinks of saving the ex-prince of an almost-ruined kingdom.

I’m not exactly sure whether to be in awe of her determination or saddened by it. I’m not sure whether to tell her to give up or to keep on trying.

“It’s fine,” she finally says, turns to me with a slight curl of her lip. “This isn’t your burden to bear, Bernadetta. Thank you for listening, but that is all.”

I suppose I didn’t need to say anything. She’s long made up her mind about what she wants to do with Dimitri, and in some way, I’m grateful that she has. I trust her enough to know she will lead us in the best possible direction. If it’s towards reinstating Dimitri as king of Faerghus, then I won’t argue with that.

All the same, I think Felix’s advice still stands, and trusting Dimitri is no better than trusting Edelgard right about now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More of a Byleth-centric chapter than anything, but I suppose one can't help it, considering she did just come back to life and nobody expected that after five years. Oh, and that whole Randolph situation was NOT easy to watch for me in the BL route. I thought it was done rather well, but still. Not. Easy.


	21. Lone Moon, 1186

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bernie traipses through a valley of torment and works through some trust issues.
> 
> Or that time everyone gets involved in the Ambush at Ailell.

**LETTER TO THE ARCHBISHOP**

_ Archbishop Byleth Eisner Blaiddyd _

_ Garreg Mach Monastery, Unified Fodlan _

_ Verdant Moon _

_ Her Esteemed Archbishop, _

_ Are you familiar with the word Nabatea? _

_ I’ve seen the word mentioned once or twice in mother’s letters regarding Duscur, but nowhere in my mother’s library does it actually show up. Wherever she’d heard of the word, it was not found in books. _

_ Somehow it’s related to Agartha, of which there’s also very little to read about. This word is more familiar, though again, very difficult to find in mother’s collection. I would have petitioned the monastery library directly for copies of books on Agartha, but I was warned ahead of time not to bother. _

_ According to Claude, I won’t find any books relating to Agartha in Garreg Mach, either. At least, not in the academy library. In the Archbishop’s and Seteth’s private collection, however… _

_ Needless to say, I’m going to need you to do some digging, Aunt By. It might be too much to ask, but you did offer to do whatever you can to find my father, and it’s been over a year now that he’s gone missing. I would like to believe that he’s fallen into some mysterious magical sleep like you had done decades before, but I’m not one to dwell on such fantasies. You may still have the power of the progenitor god, Archbishop, but Father is human. Crest-bearer he may be, but he will still live or die the natural way. _

_ Agartha, Nabatea, the Tragedy of Duscur, the Red Canyon. I feel like this all goes back to thousands of years of Fodlanian history, and perusing through tales of such magnitude require a more scholarly mind than mine. Curan takes after his father in that respect and has been helping me piece things together, but I’m afraid even he has his limitations. We would require the assistance of an actual scholar in these matters. _

_ I know it may be too much to ask, but do you have someone you can recommend for such an undertaking? After Lysithea...I know of no other expert, and well… _

_ Please alert me if you have found something of note. _

_ All my love, _

_ Felicity Glenn Fraldarius, Duchess _

_ Fraldarius Territory, Faerghus, Unified Fodlan _

_ P.S. I will likely be traveling before the winter season sets in. I have it on good authority that Father’s whereabouts may be southeast, past the Airmid River and towards the mountains by Hyrm. And by good authority, I mean to say “gut feeling” and “the visions I’ve gotten through the Sword of Moralta.” But both seem unrealistic and fanatical, and I don’t want most people thinking I’m crazy. You, at least, can understand me a little bit. _

* * *

**LONE MOON, 1186**

I like my southern heat well enough, but scorching temperatures are a completely different story.

That’s what it is like in the Valley of Ailell. An infernal land where nothing grows, and the only signs of activity are the flows of molten earth.

The heat makes even Petra uneasy. She huffs out an uncomfortable breath, her dark skin breaking into a sweat, hair tied back into one large braid similar to how she had worn it years ago. She’s the most lightly dressed of us, in exotic clothing that leaves little to the imagination, and yet the whole effect makes her more intimidating than alluring. Petra is always in control of her situation, and while she--like all of us--may look overheated, she soldiers on without complaint.

On the other hand, my poor hair plasters itself from the stifling hot air and it is a minor blessing that I am on a wyvern, its cool scaly skin a welcome element in the valley.

“The Valley of Torment.” Ashe and I are similarly armored; cotton and light gear underneath our leathers. He huffs out his own stifled breath and scans the grounds below. He winces at the sight before us. “A land where streams of lava flow freely through the earth, a place where the Goddess’ rage is most openly seen. It’s the kind of place you would imagine existed in fiction. Being here, though...that puts a lot of things into perspective, doesn’t it?”

I nod. We all knew the story by this point. Ailell was like any other valley in Fodlan, until it was said that the Goddess wanted to punish humanity for its crimes. “Only if we believe that these so-called pillars of light existed,” I say uneasily. “The whole thing does ring as fiction, doesn’t it? Pity it isn’t.”

“This place is new to me,” Petra says, her pegasus hovering gracefully in the air. “Never in my years of Fodlan am I encountering such heat. I am expecting--I expected that Fodlan is a colder place up north.”

“Not in this case,” I say. “There’s been enough stories about Ailell standing the test of time. Over one thousand years of civilization, and The Valley of Torment has yet to be inhabited.”

“Yes, what is more--” 

“Hey!” Ashe’s wyvern jerks to the left and almost collides with mine, but is immediately subdued. I fly a little further off just in case. “What is it?”

“That’s--look below.”

Something changes in Ashe’s countenance, and I look down. I frown. Things don’t seem right, and from the looks of things, the people below are not who we are supposed to meet.

For one, I don’t recognize the Shield of Faerghus in any of the units.

“Lord Gwendal,” Ashe says, and something in his tone makes me look at him with urgency. He pulls his wyvern around. “We need to leave. It’s an ambush!”

I don’t question Ashe’s instincts. It’s clear he recognizes the man, and it’s even clearer to me now that he’s wearing Imperial colors. I follow Ashe out of our scouting location and fly back southeast to where the rest of our troops are. Petra flies close by, a blur of white against our dark brown wyverns.

Ashe alights first, shouting for the professor and Dimitri. A number of the other Kingdom troops approach us, including Felix. Where many of them head towards Ashe, Felix comes to me.

“What did you see?” He helps me out of my wyvern, his hands gripping my hips as he pulls me down. I let him do so and notice that his hands linger a little longer than usual. I try not to let it distract me.  _ Try _ being the key word.

“An army general and soldiers,” I say, patting my wyvern and feeding it pieces of dried meat as reward. I let one of the squires handle the wyvern as I walk towards Ashe and the commander’s tent. “Imperial ones. I don’t know who, but Ashe seemed shaken when he saw who was leading the advance.”

“My father? Was he there?”

I shake my head. “I didn’t see him.”

Felix scowls. He walks beside me, saying nothing. When we get to the front of the tent, he grasps my arm before we can walk in. “Not many people knew we were coming here. To Ailell. If the Imperial army knows where we are, it could only mean one thing.”

I nod. My response is so soft I am unsure whether Felix hears me. “There’s a spy in our midst.” There is an unspoken silence between us, but I know where Felix’s thought process is going.

_ The spy could be one of us _ .

I don’t wait for Felix to let go of my arm. I open the tent flap and walk in, pulling the swordsman with me.

He drops my arm as we enter, and to my relief, we miss little of what Ashe is reporting. Petra is already there as well, her face grim and nodding to confirm what Ashe had seen.

“Leading the troops is Lord Gwendal,” Ashe explains. He closes his eyes, takes in a breath, then exhales slowly. He reopens his eyes and points at the sketched map of the terrain. “The Gray Lion, a veteran great knight of House Rowe. He was... _ is _ ...loyal to Rowe’s count, and by association, was loyal to my adoptive father, Lord Lonato.”

Dimitri listens attentively, staring at Ashe with his one functional eye, his countenance darkening the more he hears. “Does he mean to ambush us then?”

“Lord Gwendal is an honorable man,” Ashe continues, turning away from Dimitri’s scrutiny. “Perhaps he’s--”

“What colors did he wear?”

“That is--”

“What. Colors?” Dimitri slowly begins to lose his cool, gritting his teeth.

“Red and black, his arms emblazoned with the eagles of House Hresvelg,” I interrupt, stepping beside Ashe. “I would know the emblem from far enough away.”

Admitting this seemed a betrayal to Ashe, and he backs away, refusing to look at either of us. For a brief moment, Ashe reminds me of a skittish cat, like the ones at Garreg Mach. A cat that had stolen a piece of fish and has been feeling guilty ever since. It is the briefest moment, and after the conversation with Felix, it makes me wonder if Ashe was the one who alerted Lord Gwendal’s forces.

How much does Ashe really resent what happened to Lord Lonato? Would he throw his loyalties away now? Or was he playing the long game?

“So they mean to trap us,” Dimitri says, now looking at me. I fidget under his gaze, but I do not turn away. “They mean to murder us in this maddening sinkhole.” He turns to the professor, gives her a scowl, as though they had been engaged in another one of their heated arguments prior to getting Ashe’s news. “And what of Rodrigue? Where is the Shield of Faerghus?”

“I did not see him,” I say. “Perhaps he--”

“I tire of waiting for him.” Dimitri waves his hand in dismissal. “The longer we stay here, the more susceptible we are to this ambush. Better to strike and destroy the enemy.”

Professor Byleth looks worriedly at him, bites her lip. “Dimitri is right. We can’t stay in Ailell in wait. Not if there are soldiers already on the lookout for us.”

Dimitri nods. “Ready the troops. Oh, and…” he turns to each of us, and my stomach drops quicker than a plummeting boulder. “Find the spy who gave our location away. Make certain that he--or she--is delivered to me  _ alive _ .”

The rage in Dimitri then causes me to step back and into Felix’s front. He steadies me even as he growls back. “So that  _ you  _ could torture the scoundrel? Better just to kill him outright.”

Felix pulls me out of the tent before Dimitri could respond back. When we are at a safe distance, Felix turns to me. “It’s not Ashe.”

“I...wasn’t even thinking it was Ashe.”

“Yes, you were. But it’s not him.”

The certainty and trust Felix gave to Ashe irritates me. Why does  _ Ashe  _ of all people have Felix’s utmost trust? “And how are  _ you  _ so sure? Weren’t you the one who told me that there could be a spy in our midst? Why isn’t it Ashe?”

“He is too obvious.”

It’s about the stupidest statement I’ve ever heard. I let Felix know this when I laugh. “Just because someone is  _ too obvious  _ doesn’t mean he isn’t one! You can’t just trust anyone at face value! And besides, didn’t he disappear west a few years back? What if he found supporters of the Western Church? What if he took on the mantle of Lord of Gaspard and allied himself with House Rowe? Didn’t that occur to you?”

Felix remains unmoved by this, and I am increasingly getting angry at the lack of logic this argument is undergoing. “And if he allied himself with House Rowe, then he would be in the perfect position to report to the count about our every movement. It could explain why we’re being ambushed!”

“Did you look at Ashe?”

The question makes me hesitate. The truth of it hits me then. It couldn’t have been Ashe. The genuine surprise and panic he had displayed as we headed back to camp was proof enough emotionally. The fact that he didn’t even  _ know  _ where we were going until recently was another point in his favor. “I…”

“Did you  _ really  _ look at him?” Felix grips my chin, holds it up to face him head on. “Did you see how pale he was? How he didn’t hesitate to name the army commander? You did. You  _ saw  _ the look of surprise on Ashe’s face, and the  _ only  _ hesitation he made was in determining whether Lord Gwendal was friend or foe. To Ashe, the general is an old friend. But you know as well as I that that no longer matters in war. Ashe will do what he must.”

The pressure of his fingers on my chin tightens somewhat. “You  _ know  _ he’s not the spy. I don’t know why you’re arguing with me or why you’re mad, Bernadetta, but let’s drop the pretense that this is about him.”

Trust. That’s what the whole thing was about. I am jealous of Ashe in that second, the way Felix defends him completely, utterly. But I don’t voice this aloud.

“It could be any of us,” I say, biting back any other retort. My eyes fog up, but I rapidly blink away the onset of tears. “Maybe it’s me and that’s why I’m fighting so hard to blame Ashe. Did you think of that?”

His other hand grasps my shoulder. He pulls me closer. “It isn’t you, either, Bernadetta.”

I shiver. It would be so simple to let him continue to pull me in, to lull me into a sort of safety. But I’m not the Bernadetta he knew from years ago. I  _ cannot afford  _ to be lulled into security. I need to keep a clear head. So I push away from him. “That’s all well and good, but we can’t all be trusting of our friends. Or hasn’t this war taught you that much?”

Felix crosses his arms. To my surprise, he does not look at me resentfully. If anything, his expression looks pensive, as if he’s trying to put pieces of a puzzle together. “Bernadetta--”

“Whatever you two lovebirds are arguing about,” Sylvain says, coming up to us, “It needs to wait. Dimitri is rallying the rest of us. We spied soldiers nearby. Ailell is going to be a battleground, and I need you, Felix. Bernadetta, your wyvern has been saddled.”

I glance at Felix, who is no longer looking at me. He nods, and I do, too. We part ways.

We don’t look at each other, and I’m left wondering what Felix could have had to say with my doubts and my confusion. I’m left wondering who the spy is and what would happen once he or she is caught.

But most of all I’m left wondering over what is happening between Felix and myself.

That thought plagues me even as I ride up into the sky. It continues to haunt me even as I watch--relieved--the Fraldarius banners unfurl in the north, the telltale robes of Rodrigue Achille Fraldarius, Shield of Faerghus, flapping behind him as he gallops like a madman into the valley. Magic and madness, and all around him his soldiers make quick work of the Imperial troops.

Lord Gwendal doesn’t last long after that. The great knight is nothing once the duke of Fraldarius casts his magic, but it is not Rodrigue that gives him the finishing blow.

Ashe lets loose an arrow, and I watch--as though suspended in some horrifying nightmare--as it fells the Gray Lion. The man tumbles off his steed, and I know by his unmoving body that he is dead.

Whatever doubts I had about Ashe disappears then and there. The wyvern rider lets out an agonized wail, and I don’t know if it is of triumph or despair. He did, after all, just kill an old friend.

_ Ashe will do what he must _ .

I watch as Ashe flies off into the distance, breaking rank. I don’t follow him. Petra looks at me with concern, but I shake my head. “He will return when he is ready.”

I hope he does, but I am not so sure. All I know is that Ashe will replay the scene before him over and over again in his head. He will watch his friend die, and he will remember that it is he who shot the last arrow. There is no knowing how to recover from that.

In that moment, I understand the name of our battleground. I can see now why Ailell is called The Valley of Torment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it never occurred to me that people you've recruited out of a different house have the possibility of fighting you post time-skip and that you'd have to "re-recruit" them again, so to speak. Up until I started playing the other routes, and I realize I'm missing one or two folks.
> 
> Ashe is one of those people.
> 
> And yet, it makes sense. If you aren't going through the BL route, Ashe fights for House Rowe OR for the Kingdom. It's insane how much they put into the question of loyalty for the FE3H characters. Anyway, that's just my chapterly musing.


	22. Great Tree Moon, 1186 (Part I)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bernie admires a bridge and sends someone over it. Or is it into it?
> 
> Or that great battle in the Bridge of Myrddin.

**GREAT TREE MOON, 1186 (Part I)**

Even in this unfortunate circumstance, there is no denying that the Great Bridge of Myrddin is a spectacle to behold.

It is the crossing point between the Alliance and the Empire, an important structural piece hovering over the glistening blues of the Airmid River. If I am waxing poetic, it’s because I am taken in by the sight, even as I know we are crossing it to get to the capital, Enbarr.

Invading the capital is a big mistake, an idea that many of the Kingdom troops voice out. With our numbers and our support, it is a miracle that Claude--the Alliance leader--is even acquiescing for us to use the bridge. Better to invade Fhirdiad and retake what is left of the Kingdom before marching forces south.

But Dimitri’s will is iron-clad, and he is not budging on that point. Not even Rodrigue and the professor can steer him away from his one-minded vengeance.

It is a point I do not discuss with Felix, who is increasingly frustrated by the turn of events.

So instead we soldier on, towards Myrddin in hopes of taking the Bridge out of Acheron’s possession.

“It is quiet,” Lysithea says, steadying her pegasus in the air. “And there is very little activity below.”

We are both hovering above the watchtower at the northern end of the bridge. Normally, it’s Petra or Ashe who is with me, but Petra, along with Ingrid and Ignatz, are the messengers sent to Riegan. After the whole spy situation last moon, it makes more sense to send people who are trustworthy.

Ashe is yet to recover from the last mission. The loss of Lord Gwendal rattled him, and Professor Byleth decides to give Ashe his space. Mercedes tends to his wounds and whispers encouragement to him, but it is Annette who rouses him from his catatonic existence. Annette stays behind at Garreg Mach, but Mercedes is called to the front lines of battle, just in case.

“I think I see the Imperial banners at the other side,” I say, squinting. I use the spyglass Sylvain entrusts to me, and I look through it before handing it to Lysithea.

“I don’t--ah! I see them,” Lysithea says. Her lips thin in a small line, and I look at her questioningly. “Lorenz is there, and he brings Gloucester troops. What could he possibly gain…?”

I shake my head. “Claude warned us about Lorenz. He’s out to usurp Claude from Alliance leadership.”

Lysithea sighs. “Still, it’s--hang on. There’s another general. Decorated, from the looks of it.”

There is a chill climbing up my spine. “A woman?” 

“Wyvern rider. She handles a fancy-looking axe. Here.” Lysithea passes the spyglass back to me, but I don’t take it back. I already know who the woman is.

“Ladislava.” Sure enough, when I look through the spyglass one more time, I am greeted with the stern face of a woman whose skill with an axe is superior to many. Where Edelgard can make the axe sing on the ground, Ladislava can dance with the same weapon on the back of a wyvern. Once, long before she became general, I had seen her take a throwing axe and hit her target at almost the same distance as an arrow would. The thought chills me to the core. “We...we need to warn the others.”

“Is she _ that _ridiculously strong?” Lysithea glances at the bow on my back. “Arrows make quick work of wyvern riders.”

“It’s not that simple,” I say as we begin to fly back down. “It’s said that she holds a shield that magically fends off arrows. And she’s almost untouchable with any other weapon.”

“Who’s untouchable with any other weapon?” Ferdinand asks as our steeds touch the ground.

Lysithea hops off, and I follow her lead. “Ladislava’s here, Ferdinand.”

He pales. “Oh Goddess. We’ll need to rid ourselves of her, sooner rather than later.”

By the look on his face, I know we are in for a grueling fight.

* * *

When Acheron shows up in the middle of the battle, I know we are in danger.

His forces sneak up on us from behind, and we are pincered in the middle of the bridge. That is when Lorenz and the Demonic Beast make their charge.

I almost panic, flying above. It is already a feat, trying to avoid all the arrows being shot towards me, and it is mostly thanks to Lysithea’s magical shield and deflection abilities that keep us up in the air. But even a mage like Lysithea is bound to tire out, and the strain on keeping both of us alive is clear on her face.

“We can’t keep up like this!” I tell her as she flies near me, close enough that another bevy of arrows narrowly misses us. “We need to dismount!”

“But--”

“LYSITHEA!” My cries are unheard, and I watch the white flyer plummet, a stream of blood in her wake.

My mind begins to run on reflex. I spur my wyvern down, diving toward the falling pegasus. Lysithea becomes separated from her steed, and I go for her, praying to the Goddess and Saint Seiros that I catch her in time. The last few seconds are critical, and by the time I reach her, I am sobbing uncontrollably.

There is blood all over.

For a horrifying instant, my mind shuts down, and I watch Lysithea, eyes closed, white hair disheveled all over her. The pegasus crashes below, and I hear the sound of alarm as some of our soldiers look up. I turn and see Felix and Mercedes running to us.

“She...someone help her!” I shriek. I can’t help it. There is so much blood.

“Lysithea!” Mercedes gasps as we get there. Felix gingerly takes Lysithea from my arms and places her on the ground. He examines her for a moment, and looks up to me.

I am about to burst into another fit of tears, but Felix’s gaze keeps me calm. “Bernadetta, she’s _ alive _.”

“What? How?!”

He stands, murmurs something to Mercedes that I do not hear, and moves toward me. He holds up a hand, and I reflexively drag him up behind me. He positions himself on the wyvern, and with a squeeze of his legs and a short murmur of command, the wyvern rises up again.

“The blood isn’t hers,” he says, his breath by my ear. The adrenaline I am feeling supersedes any discomfort I have of Felix clutching onto me, of Felix’s warmth at my back. “It’s her pegasus.”

I am relieved, and I am about to say something else, but he squeezes me by the hips. “Take me to her.”

“To...who?”

“Ladislava.”

I can’t help it. I turn around to half face Felix, and my wyvern jerks to the side. “Absolutely _ not _!”

“Bernadetta, _ please _,” he says. My face is close to his now, and he tilts his head to look me in the eye. He wears the expression of fierce determination, and I swear I almost melt into his amber gaze. I don’t, though, because the fear of Ladislava stays my psychotically beating heart.

“I won’t have her kill you,” I finally say, almost as evenly as his plea. I am not allowed to panic. I am _ not _allowed to panic.

“In case you didn’t notice, we are going to _ lose the bridge _ ,” he says sardonically. “The boar and Byleth can only do so much below, and there’s a _ Demonic Beast _blocking them from the generals on the other side. Ferdinand and Sylvain are fighting off Lorenz’s troops, and Dedue--”

“_ Dedue?! _”

For a brief moment, he smiles, and that--on top of his stare--_ really _gets me distracted. He loses the smile immediately. “He’s alive.”

Dedue is alive! My wyvern jolts up when I pull on the reins too hard. “How?!”

“Those questions can wait until later,” he says. “What’s more pressing is the fact that we will not be able to take this bridge if Ladislava is still alive. We need to get to her before _ more _reinforcements arrive. Bernadetta, you’re the only flyer left right now.”

He’s right. Of course he’s right. But I don’t want to go. Facing Ladislava is bad enough, but I’m taking Felix to that fight. He’s formidable, sure, but he’s _ not _indestructible.

And Goddess help me, but I don’t know what I would do if he dies on my watch.

It doesn’t matter. He makes the decision for me. Felix moves his hands from my hips and encloses them over my own fists. He takes the reins from me, and I am left reluctantly voicing my concerns--less so now that I’m cocooned by his very being.

The wyvern turns, heading straight across the bridge and toward the general awaiting us.

Back when I was still with the Empire, I had heard tales of Ladislava. The Scarlet Warrior, they said about her. The Empire’s own fierce general, a staunch supporter of Edelgard’s ascent to the empirical throne. She was a no-nonsense woman, and along with Randolph, she carried with her a loyalty so fierce that she will stop at nothing to do every bidding her emperor commands.

I know we have to kill her, because Ladislava would _ never _abandon her post on the bridge.

Felix unsheathes his blade as we get closer. He has let go of my hands, and I take the reins now, leading us into what could very well be our final moments.

“They send children to this fight,” Ladislava says, hovering in front of us.

Our wyverns circle each other, hers a monstrous steed compared to mine. I would have lost my nerve if Felix hadn’t been holding onto me. He scoffs at Ladislava in turn. “Hardly. Or do you not know who we are?”

“I don't care who or what you are,” the general hisses. “You are nothing but more walls between my emperor and her path.”

“And you are nothing more than an obstacles in ours,” Felix responds evenly. Leave it to the Fraldarius heir not to be intimidated by the exchange. In fact, I believe he revels in these types of moments.

“To repay Her Majesty’s favor, I will _ not _let you pass!” She lunges.

I maneuver my wyvern away, almost missing the speed with which her axe swings in the air. Now I’m seeing first-hand just how deft The Scarlet Warrior is with her weapon of choice.

There is a clash of steel, and I know Felix is fighting her off behind me. We turn away again, our wyverns doing their own dance.

Concentrating on keeping both of us alive, I am unaware as to how the battle is faring between them. I don’t know who is tiring more frequently as I pit wyvern against wyvern. I just know that if I give up any openings, both Felix and I will die.

Mid-attack, Ladislava flies away from us and further from the bridge. The move means to separate us from reinforcements, and I know she wants us to follow. Despite the bad feelings about this, I give chase to her anyway. There are no more flyers on either side, and the battle is solely now between the three of us. I am not sure why she is fleeing, because she could continue to hammer away at Felix’s stamina. Or perhaps it’s because she herself is tiring at a quicker pace.

It is too late for me to realize it, because by the time I do, I see the throwing axe fly from her grip. At me.

I close my eyes and wait for the weapon to strike.

It doesn’t.

Instead, I hear the clash of steel, watch as the sword--previously in Felix’s hand--falls, along with the throwing axe. Felix curses. “Are you alright?”

“I…”

I do not see Ladislava throwing her second axe, and this time…

This time Felix is too slow to put up his second sword. This time, Ladislava’s aim is true.

Felix gives out a sickening cry, and I smell the blood. Ladislava makes an impactful hit, and I start to see red.

“Ladislava!” I cry out.

Behind me, Felix’s grip is still firm, though he is now slumped at my back. “Get...out…” he rasps. “I’m...okay.”

He is not okay. This is not okay. The heat rushing through me is now of anger. And I turn my wyvern towards Ladislava one more time.

I ready my bow, I aim.

Ladislava grins at me, dares me to fire. She holds up her shield, and I know, by the look of the magical aura around it, that it will no doubt make my arrow bounce away from her. But I also look around her and know that not everything is shielded. That she is wearing armor so heavy that a barrage of arrows would never nick the metal plating, but it doesn’t cover _ everything _.

Like Lysithea and any other flyer, her steed is not fully plated like her. And that’s what I’m counting on.

So I aim for the weakest point of her wyvern, and I fire.

And I fire again. And again. I am unaware of anything else but the flurry of my attacks. I keep moving, keep shooting. Until the Scarlet Warrior--and her steed--crashes into the Airmid River, where there is no one to catch her. Where she will not be able to swim out of her heavy, impenetrable armor.

The water around Ladislava’s fall turns a rose-colored red.

“That...impressive,” Felix rasps out, despite how painful it must be to even talk. I can feel him slowly lose his grip around my midsection, and I know he doesn’t have much time left before he goes unconscious.

I don’t stay to admire my work. I have a man behind me who needs Mercedes just as much as Lysithea does.

So I urge my wyvern back to the other end of the bridge. Past the Demonic Beast still wreaking havoc. Past Lorenz and Ferdinand and Sylvain having a paladin stand-off on the other side. Past Dedue fending off Acheron and his pincer attack. I don’t care at that point, because my job is done.

I leave the rest of the battle to those who give a damn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Words cannot express how happy I was when Dedue showed up in the battle at the bridge. I almost cried with joyful tears. 
> 
> But of course this being Bernadetta's story, there's other things in play, and she's got a lot of other shit to deal with. But still, I know in my heart she's doing her own dance of joy for Dedue...while panicking about other things.


	23. Great Tree Moon, 1186 (Part II)

**GREAT TREE MOON, 1186 (Part II)**

I don’t visit Felix in the infirmary.

I can’t bring myself to. This is no longer like the Battle of the Eagle and Lion, where we faced off our opponents, and at first blood, the players are whisked off to be healed immediately. This is much worse than that.

Here, in this war, there is no telling who will survive. There is no telling who will heal in time for the next battle, or the next month. There is no telling how much the damage is.

“Bernadetta?” someone asks from across my door. “Can I come in?”

I don’t answer. I turn over on my bed and face the wall. I try to tune out the voice, but they are persistent. A type of persistence I only know comes from one person.

“Bernadetta, I’m not leaving,” Professor Byleth says, gently but resolutely, as Professor Byleth would. “We need to talk.”

“No, we don’t,” I mumble under my blanket. I am hugging Dima the Bear close to me, and I shut my eyes.

“ _ Bernadetta. _ ” There is a commotion outside, and I hear Ingrid.

“Do you need me to kick the door down, Professor?”

“Don’t you dare!” I scream out, throwing the blanket off me. “Give me a minute!”

I put something on that doesn’t look like I’ve slept in it, and I lightly brush my hair. I tidy up the bed a bit and put the stuffed bear to the side, back to his normal perch. When the knocking comes once more, I promptly open the door.

“Thank you, Ingrid,” I hear the professor say before the pegasus knight nods and walks away. Byleth turns to me. “You look...well-kept.”

“Yeah. Right.” I let the professor in, and she closes the door behind her.

“You haven’t left your room since the battle at the Bridge. Not even for when Dedue and Mercedes offered to set up a feast in celebration of our victory. I wanted to check on you.”

If this is what happens when you go back to being a recluse, I should never have stepped out of my comfort zone. Ever. Then I wouldn’t have them expecting too much out of me. “And you never have to worry about me, Professor. Never ever. I’m safe and fine in my little room, and you can go ahead and keep enjoying...whatever it is you’re enjoying.”

Byleth sighs. “It’s not as easy as that, and I thought you were calling me Byleth.”

“Sorry, Pro--Byleth.”

We lapse into a bit of silence, and Byleth looks around the room. She catches sight of Dima the Bear, and I immediately regret keeping him in the open. I should have stuffed him under my blankets like a lunatic with a scheme would.

“That’s a nice bear,” she says, trying to make small talk. When I try to respond, I glimpse the interest spark in her eyes. I know then that she’s seen the blue ribbon and the emblem I had embroidered on his front chest. “With a Fraldarius crest.”

“What? Really? Total coincidence,” I laugh nervously. “I just really like the colors. And...the design...”

“Mmhmm,” she says, disbelieving. Clearly the jig is up, but I can’t help but want to lie through my teeth anyway.

I would have kept going, if not for her sullen response. “He’s fine, you know. Thank the Goddess for our flyers. Ingrid, Petra, and Ignatz returned in the nick of time, so they spirited Felix and Lysithea back to Garreg Mach as soon as Mercedes said they were stable enough for the journey. Lysithea’s magic is out of commission for now. She really pushed herself to her limit some days ago. As did Felix.”

“No.”

Byleth watches me, confused. “No?”

“He didn’t tire himself out,” I say. I remember Felix, almost indestructible Felix. I remember the amount of blood and the look of triumph in Ladislava’s eyes. “He got  _ injured _ . Because of me. He didn’t tire himself out. I was the liability. Stupid, useless Bernie.”

The last word comes out as a croak, and whatever tears I had held back after the Bridge returns, and I am sobbing in Professor Byleth’s arms for a few minutes before she pulls away and offers me a handkerchief.

“You are not stupid or useless, Bernadetta,” she says, and in that instant, I don’t believe her. How could I?

“Two people almost died because of me,” I continue to blubber.

She shakes her head. “Two people are  _ alive  _ because of you. Or do you deny keeping Lysithea from falling to her death?”

“I...no.”

“And what you did to Ladislava…” Professor Byleth takes a breath. “I can certainly say she’s utterly dead.”

“But Felix--”

“What Felix did was give you an opening,” the professor continues, “one that you took. If you were stupid and useless, you would have frozen on the spot and let Ladislava get the better of you. But instead, you got angry. And you fought. And you  _ won _ . That’s not useless, Bernadetta. That’s  _ impressive _ .”

_ That...impressive _ . Felix had said that before he’d gone close to dying. I shudder, but my sobs stop coming. I dry my eyes with the handkerchief. “I...suppose that was pretty commendable of me.”

Byleth laughs at this. “See? It’s not too bad to show some kind of confidence now and again!”

I smile. It’s the first time I’ve done so in days, and I find it slightly liberating. “I...I suppose.”

“Now, when you’re  _ ready _ ,” Byleth says, disentangling herself from me and standing. “We didn’t exactly make an entire feast, what with the war going on, and how little resources we actually have. But we couldn’t help but make something celebrating Dedue’s return. He was a little hesitant, but...there’s just so much bleakness, you know?”

I had been in such a stupor for the past several days that I do not notice the bags under Byleth’s eyes, and the way she’s been holding herself up willfully, forcefully. Handling Dimitri will do that to anyone, I suppose, and I immediately feel sorry for being another burden in the professor’s hands. No, not professor,  _ interim Archbishop _ .

“That does sound like a good idea,” I say. I force myself up as well. “I shall head over to the Dining Hall once I’m better dressed. Deal?”

Byleth is full-on smiling now, and I am gratified to see that she at least hasn’t lost  _ all  _ her joy. “Deal.”

* * *

Dedue returns to throwing himself into Dimitri’s path, which reduces the handling that Professor Byleth has to do with the Boar Prince. Dimitri, the One-Eyed Demon, is the name that gets spread across the Monastery, and this little implication is problematic, because who can trust a One-Eyed Demon to rule a kingdom?

Rodrigue, Gilbert, Felix, Sylvain, and Byleth push for the re-claiming of Fhirdiad despite Dimitri’s attempt to march our entire army into Enbarr. Dedue, for all his loyalty to the king, does not argue with him, and I fear whatever work Byleth and Rodrigue did put in will only begin to unravel now that Dimitri has one staunch ally in his corner.

Still, it is good to see the Duscur soldier, and I am glad the war has not turned him into a complete beast like his liege lord. In the days after his return, I often spy him in the garden, watering the plants there and speaking animatedly to Annette over her cooking questions. Even Ashe manages to lighten his mood, now that all of the Blue Lions officers are finally reunited.

The mood in the monastery gets even brighter once Dimitri agrees to send a letter to Derdriu asking to join forces with Claude and the major forces of the Alliance. Lysithea--who is beginning to regain her usual pallor--nods approvingly of the news. “Father and mother will want to know that the Alliance is behind us. Perhaps there will be safety between two worlds after all.”

I still stay mostly in my room, but in keeping Byleth from checking on me too often, I wander the halls as well. I check on Dorothea, who often sits by the maze gardens for hours at a time, soaking in the beauty of the day. “There’s so little beauty to behold,” she says sadly. After the Bridge of Myrddin, she is shaken by the thought that it could have been any of our old colleagues from the Black Eagles on that bridge in place of Lorenz.

I visit Petra, who splits her time between training, reading in the library, and...climbing trees. She still has not heard from her grandfather, but believes that with the increasing pressure on Brigid, there is no doubt that her grandfather will finally reply. He would have no choice in the matter.

I still avoid the infirmary, and when Sylvain tells me Felix is back on his feet and training again, I know to stay away from the training grounds as well.

Mostly, I take tea with Ferdinand.

The month has him a bit despondent, and I know it’s because we are due to head south on his birthday. To Gronder Field in hopes to rendezvous with Claude’s soldiers, more or less.

“I bring treats,” I say to him, holding up a basket of bread and sweets. I can already smell the tea brewing in his room, and we settle ourselves on his lush rug, where he sets up a mat to put our tea and snacks. “

He sets down two pots of tea, one smelling of honey and fruits--which I know is definitely for me--and the other of cinnamon. I raise an eyebrow. Cinnamon is not his usual go-to tea. If anything, it’s one of--

Oh. Oh, Goddess, it’s Hubert’s birthday today.

Ferdinand smiles at me. “Thank you, Bernadetta. I know it is too much to ask, on today of all days, but I would rather not be alone.”

“Of course,” I tell him.

He and I sip the tea and eat the snacks. The warmth of the tea brings some color back into his cheeks, and I am relieved by this. “Even with the fires of war raging all around us, tea never fails to soothe the soul. Do you not agree, Bernadetta?”

“I hadn’t thought about it, but yes?”

“It almost gives a sense of optimism for the future,” he says wistfully. When he sees me watching him, he shakes his head ruefully. “Of course, I think rationally now, so I cannot always fantasize the what-ifs.”

“Do you wonder the what-ifs, though?” I wonder how often Ferdinand thinks about what would have happened had he stayed by Edelgard’s side, despite what she had done to his father. I wonder, because it’s written on his face every day.

It makes me angry, really. Edelgard wasted one of the best noble-minded people in her empire, and now he spends a lot of his time lost. At least now he has a purpose, and it’s to fight back. Even if it means fighting against people--the one person--he loves.

“I will admit I do think too much on days like these,” he says, sips his tea again. “But with you here, it is harder to dwell on the past...well, except for one bit of memory.”

“Oh?”

He grins widely, puts his tea down, and leans forward over the mat. “A long time ago, my parents were in talks to arrange my marriage with a certain young lady. She never set foot outside of her room, and she made little dolls to curse her perceived enemies. Such were the rumors. Frightened, I dissuaded my parents from going through with their plans.”

I raise my eyebrow. It sounds like a familiar story… “I...can see that. She does sound pretty frightening. I relate to the staying in the room part, though…”

“That girl was  _ you _ , Bernadetta. A daughter of House Varley.”

I blink several times, my jaw going slack. “I...what?! I don’t make dolls to curse people!” I sputter.

“You are a skilled embroiderer, no? I guess I was wrong. You were not making dolls.”

“I did make dolls, but they were  _ cute ones _ ! Nice little...carnivorous plants...and things!” I do admit saying that aloud  _ does  _ make it seem scary. Mostly strange. I think about how strange I must have been growing up in seclusion and with parents like mine.

Ferdinand laughs, and I am made a little better at his cheerful mood, even at the expense to my general embarrassment. “Aha, yes,  _ adorable _ . Anyway, if I had actually known you, I would have accepted the proposal.”

“It’s not as if--uh, what? Why? Did you have some scheme in mind?”

He shakes his head, pulls away from the table. “No. I just mean, now that I have gotten to know you, I would have been happy to…”

I snort. It’s a moot point now, considering the turn our lives have gone. I’m not the sort to dwell on arranged marriages, and Ferdinand, well, clearly he’s moved  _ on _ . But the thought of proving someone wrong is nice.

“It is all to say that I am glad I am able to know you after the fact, Bernadetta. I am glad I refused to marry that doll-cursing princess, because if we had been married, we would not have been able to build such a deep friendship.”

“That’s true,” I say, chuckling. “Honestly, I would’ve given up on the relationship my parents chose for me and shut myself away even more. And look where I am now!”

“So we can be agreed on the matter,” Ferdinand nods. “I am glad I refused to marry that doll-cursing princess.”

I toss a cookie at him. “I never said I made curse dolls!”

“Just teasing, Bernadetta. Just teasing.”

* * *

“You’ve been avoiding me.”

My mood takes a turn the week after tea with Ferdinand.

I am in the greenhouse, watering the plants and minding my business, but I hear the rustle of a cloak, and I turn to see Felix. He takes the watering can from my possession and begins to make himself busy. As though he needs an excuse to do something in the greenhouse.

Which is smart on his part, because the greenhouse keeper is eyeing him with suspicion. I don’t blame her. Felix Hugo Fraldarius is  _ rarely _ in the greenhouse these days.

“I...have not!”

He pauses as he waters the plant-- _ my  _ plant--and gives me a sidelong glance. “That’s why you make it a point to inquire about me  _ before  _ going into the training grounds. Or the fact that you refuse to head to the second floor because likely I’ll be there making my daily check-up visits with Professor Manuela.”

“All coincidences, I assure you!”

I know the excuse is flimsy, and Felix knows it, too. He grimaces. “I can take a hint, Bernadetta. You are angry with me for something.”

Now he’s wrong about that. I am  _ not  _ angry with him. My sobbing to Professor Byleth is proof of that, but I cannot help being angry at myself.

And on that note, I can’t trust myself around Felix. Not anymore. Not after I had gotten so distracted that he almost  _ died _ -but-didn’t. If the Bridge had been the first time, I wouldn’t have taken it so harshly. But it was the second time.

To top it off, the impending battle at Gronder Field again brings up memories, and I cannot help but shudder at the thought that Felix would willingly--once again--sacrifice his own well-being so I can get a shot in.

This is  _ not  _ the Bernadetta opera, I want to say to him, and he  _ cannot  _ keep trying to save my life. Instead, I settle for flimsy excuses and short responses.

“I am not angry.”

He puts the watering can down, this time facing me. There is a twitching in his hands, and he covers his agitation by reaching for the sword on his side. “Don’t lie to me,” he hisses.

The push definitely irritates me now. I cross my arms. “I am  _ not  _ lying to you,” I hiss back. This time, the greenhouse keeper approaches us.

“Is there a problem here?” she asks, smiling, her eyes into narrow slits. “If you’re going to continue having some kind of argument, I urge you to do so outside. Don’t spread your negative energy to the plants! Please and thank you!”

I stomp away, refusing to say another word. I know Felix follows me, because by the time we get outside of the greenhouse, he clamps his hand onto my wrist, and tries to pull me in one direction.

That doesn’t agree with me, and I quickly slip out of his grasp, letting my panic mode take over.

Within seconds, I’ve disarmed him and I’m holding his sword--still inside the scabbard--up to the base of his neck. His hands are up on his side, eyes wide. I’m shaking, a little bit of fury mixed in with a whole lot of astonishment.

“Again, how--?”

“ _ Now  _ I’m angry,” I tell him, tossing his sword to the side. “Don’t  _ touch  _ me.”

Felix drops his hands, shoulders drooping. I immediately regret saying those words. His entire facial expression contorts in rejection, hurt, pain. I look away. As intended as the words had been, I cannot see him look that way. It is excruciating.

“I...am sorry,” Felix says quietly. “I promise it won’t happen again.”

He gives a quick bow, picks up his sword, and walks to the second floor dormitory.

I stand there, gripping my wrist, where his hand had kissed my skin. The warmth there remains, and I close my eyes.

Bernie is not stupid and useless. But by the Goddess, she is terribly and utterly tactless.

* * *

_ (FGF: This accompanying letter was in between the pages of her journal. I’ve presumed my father has read it by now, but at the time, it was never sent.) _

Felix,

You can’t apologize for something that isn’t your fault. It’s silly. And you can’t make promises that I didn’t ask for. That’s equally silly.

What you  _ can  _ promise me is that you don’t die tomorrow. Or the next day. Or the next. And what you  _ can  _ promise me is that you don’t die trying to save  _ me _ . I’d like to believe I’m much more durable than that. I’m still here, aren’t I?

Bernie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of the support convos I totally enjoyed when I played the Black Eagles' Crimson Flower route was one between Ferdie and Hubert. I also liked Ferdie's convo with Bernie, because it was sweet and retrospective. I ship Ferdie/Hubie though. So I'm slightly crying inside that I've ripped them apart. Only slightly. I also live for pain and agony sometimes.
> 
> I also hadn't planned on writing the letter at the end of this chapter. But after re-reading it prior to posting, I realized Bernie had already written a letter in her head after the argument. Silly characters with their own silly whims...


	24. Harpstring Moon, 1186 (Part I)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which blood is spilled of the eagle and the lion (and deer).
> 
> Or the battle at Gronder Field that nobody wanted.

**LETTER TO THE ARCHBISHOP**

_ Archbishop Byleth Eisner Blaiddyd _

_ Garreg Mach Monastery, Unified Fodlan _

_ Horsebow Moon _

_ Beloved, _

_ I would have much preferred to give you tidings in person, but with the situation in Sreng escalating, I am urged to remain north. The choice to return to Fhirdiad or even make a visit to Garreg Mach is out of the question. At least, until we find out how the Srengi managed to amass a bit of an army. _

_ Somehow I am reminded of our problem with Almyra. Do you remember Fodlan’s Throat? It was after the Unification War. Just as soon as we finished one war, we almost launch ourselves into another. Thankfully, saving Claude was both the right and beneficial act, as his revelations regarding his parentage and relations to both Riegan _ and _ the Almyran king proved to be well worth the effort. Besides, the man--as frustrating his schemes are--is admirable, and I would have hated to have lost him as a friend. _

_ Why bring this up? It’s the wyvern riders all over again. Claude has insisted on sending Nader to make inquiries for me, because it disturbs him just as well that there are trained wyverns in the north that he doesn’t know about. Where had they come from? How were they trained? I admit, these questions have been ringing in my head since the news about Felicity and the attack by the mountains. _

_ I refused his offer to send Nader, however. You have to admit, the man is getting on in years. Besides, it is redundant for Claude to send one of his men when we have Ashe. Our Lord Gaspard can manage his way around a reconnaissance mission. And before you ask, yes, I have spoken to Annette. She understands the situation and trusts that I won’t let anything come to pass to her husband. She also expects him back in time for his birthday on Wyvern Moon. I am not sure I can promise that, but I will try. _

_ Have you heard from Felicity? She sends short letters about her whereabouts, but they are often brief and not quite as extensive as her letters to you. I feel like most days she humors me only because her father often does not. But I suppose that was the point in asking Felix to be my right hand. He knows well enough to oppose me on certain occasions. _

_ Please do not worry about me. I believe the separation of Church and State is of utmost importance, so I am refusing your ever-endearing attempts to try coming to my side. My mission in Sreng is not to proselytize or conquer her people. If I can avoid another war, I will. I made you that much of a promise years back. I _ will _ reach out a hand to the Srengi war chief just as I did with Edelgard, with Claude. I will have them decide their own paths. _

_ But make no mistake, I will act accordingly. _

_ Always and unequivocally yours, _

_ Dimitri _

_ P.S. Please send my love to Mona and Jin. I trust their studies are going well. Please assure them that their father is eating well, and he swears to you that he will return to Fhirdiad in time for the Ethereal Moon._

* * *

**Harpstring Moon, 1186 (Part I)**

The fire at Gronder Field burns for days on end after the battle is waged.

It is ghastly and horrifying. It is the stuff of nightmares. And it is all due to Edelgard’s ambition.

I cannot unsee the devastation. I cannot unsee the the burning bodies. I cannot unsee the chaos that ensued soon after.

Worst of all, I cannot fathom how Edelgard could be so cruel.

It keeps me awake at night even now.

* * *

“I don’t want to go,” I admit to Dorothea, who looks pityingly at me as I saddle my wyvern. “I really don’t.”

“Neither does Ferdi,” she says, giving him a sidelong glance. “What a birthday present, huh? Send Ferdi to fight old friends.”

“Easy for you to complain,” I mutter. “_ He _practically volunteered to go. Even if…” I trail off, because mentioning it now would only make the prospect worse. None of us want to fight Linhardt or Caspar. None of us want to go against Hubert or Edelgard.

Dorothea and Petra are the lucky ones. Even Lysithea and Ignatz are made to stand down.

But not poor, silly Bernie. Oh, no, she just _ had _to be handpicked to go wyvern-riding on quite possibly the most important battle to be fought. And all because one messenger gets murdered.

I shouldn’t be macabre about all this, but that’s all it takes for Dimitri to cry “foul” on Claude. Not even Byleth can dissuade him from searching for complete annihilation on the field.

“Kill every last one of them!” Dimitri shouts as a battle cry.

In the field of battle, it is like any battle cry. We are rallied to his cause, even as the deepest part of our minds object to mass murder.

Still, I try to avoid the archers in the Alliance. Not so much because I fear their arrows--someone recovered Ladislava’s shield, and it really _ does _help against archers--but because I don’t want to have to face down Raphael or Leonie or Hilda.

And it’ll be a cold day in Ailell before I even try to go against Claude.

This time, I do not take Felix with me in the battle. He is to face off the magic-users to the west, towards Edelgard. He is Dimitri’s vanguard. Byleth has me heading south, to claim the center hill. Similar to the strategy in the Battle of the Eagle and Lion, I will try to capture the hill to take advantage of the ballista in the center.

This time, though, I have a queasy feeling about the whole thing. Not so much because I don’t want to face off in battle, but because it seems too easy a strategy now.

After all, Edelgard and Claude trained with Dimitri once upon a time. And they both are aware of how Byleth thinks at this point.

Annette makes her way toward the center with me, Gilbert in tow. The two are almost inseparable now, and they are a formidable team, with Annette’s magic and Gilbert’s practically impenetrable armor. They send their battalions ahead, and I fly behind them, making sure not to leave them too far behind. Gronder Field is a large battlefield, and in five years, the place has barely changed.

It is easy making it to the hill, and I zone in on the ballista just as Annette’s mages get into position. I spy the Imperial archer manning the ballista, and he is occupied with forces to the east. Claude’s forces--with Leonie flying at the helm--is making their own way to the hill as well, and I know we are going to clash soon. All the same, I take in a breath, a moment of calm in the sky, before my wyvern begins to make its descent.

I lock eyes with Leonie, and for a brief instant, I hesitate. Leonie is with the Alliance now, and she fights for her village. I cannot bring myself to try to disarm her, and she seems to sense this, because her mouth twists into a wry smile before she cuts me off with her pegasus. “Sorry, Bernadetta, but the ballista is being taken for the Alliance!”

I try to tell her it’s no use. Annette and Gilbert will be below soon, but she dives down, faster than I can. She throws a spear towards the archer, and I don’t need to look to know it will hit its target.

But nothing hits, because that is when the world explodes and the screaming begins.

The center hill is engulfed in flames, and most of the mages already there perish within moments of the explosion. The knights--who also arrive to give defense to the mages--burn as well, their impenetrable armor now a disadvantage to the scorching magical heat. It is a disaster on the hill, an unmitigated horror that takes so many lives in one fell swoop.

Leonie…

Leonie’s pegasus is torn to shreds by the splintering ballista. Its pained shrieks are deafening as it plummets below with its rider. I see Leonie look up toward me, the grim line on her face widening and changing into shock and fear as she is swallowed up by the flames. She does not make it out.

The carnage below drives me out of my station, and I hover, searching the rest of the hill for signs of Annette and Gilbert. For signs of _ anyone _who made it out of the damned hill alive.

Please, _ please _, I say to myself, like a chant or a prayer. Perhaps I say it to myself like a curse.

And then I see her. Annette, scrambling towards the hill, her magic blasting through the debris. Instead of retreating, she moves toward the fire, and I hurriedly fly to her side.

“Father!” she is screaming over and over, a similar chant to my pleas. She is looking at the burning flames, her robes almost scorched by the heat. At closer look, I see Annette’s eyes, wild and desperate and there is pain, so much pain that it breaks me to see it. I try to find Gilbert as well, but I have a sinking feeling that he, too, has been swallowed whole by the magic at the center hill. “FATHER!”

She lifts her flapping skirts off the ground, and it is almost as if she floats toward the hill. She is ready to use her magic to blast all the debris away, to douse the flames with whatever wind magic she can use.

But I stop her. I land my wyvern in front of her, urging my steed to withstand the heat behind us.

“Out of the way, Bernie!” she says, the tone of her voice as frightening as the fires behind me. “I need to find...I _ must _ find…”

“He’s gone, Annette,” I say. I fight against my breaking voice. “He’s...gone. Don’t go in there.”

“He’s _ in there _ . He might still be _ alive _, Bernie! GET OUT OF MY WAY.”

_ Please _, I say again to myself, but I don’t know who I’m pleading to now. If the Goddess hears, she doesn’t respond, and I know deep in my heart that no divine intervention will keep Annette from perishing with her father. If nobody stops her, she will dive headfirst into the flames, and I…

_ No _ . I will _ not _ do this again. I can only mourn Leonie now, can only put flowers in Gilbert’s grave, but I will _ not _watch Annette die. Not Annette.

So I do what I must. I send my wyvern toward her, toward the magic she is about to blast at her obstacle. At _ me _.

I don’t even think anymore. I throw myself at her, and I wrestle her to the ground, my wyvern flying off.

She is sobbing uncontrollably now, and even as I pin her, I can feel the fight leaving her body. I look around, the calm I had felt before now leaving in way of a mounting panic. We are still at Gronder Field, and even with a burning center hill, the battle still wages around us. I have to get Annette and myself away from the hill and back toward where Professor Byleth keeps the reserves.

I question whether Annette and I can fight in our states, but that is when she stiffens in my arms, and I look at her.

“Bernie,” she says silently, the dangerous tone in her voice still there. “Bernie, I’m okay. Let go.”

I lessen my hold on her warily, and she nods at me. “Thank you.”

Annette wipes her tears away, looks at the hill, continually burning. By night, it will be a blackened spot, and I cannot tear my own sight away from it.

“I...I didn’t see it coming,” I tell her quietly. “I was right there, and I didn’t even see who…”

“Edelgard,” Annette says, turning her head southwest. “It was Edelgard.”

My eyes widen. “How did you--”

Annette laughs. It is a derisive laugh, a laugh that could easily return to sobbing. But my mage friend does not return to her sobbing. She rubs her eyes and pulls me toward the direction of the Imperial army. Her grip is surprisingly strong, and I don’t stop her as we make our way down the hill.

“‘_ Those fools who went up the hill will pay with their lives, _’” Annette says, mimicking what I think is Edelgard’s voice. “She shouted it when Ashe and the professor got too near her. Ashe...has a token of mine. Something that connects me to him. On certain distances, what he hears, I hear.”

“So you knew it was going to happen?”

Annette glances at me, shakes her head. “I didn’t know what she meant...not until I saw Leonie. By then...by then…” she gulps, takes another breath. “Father had gone ahead, in hopes of taking out the archers stationed in front of us. But by then it was too late.”

I know the feeling, and I don’t say more. She lets go of my arm, and we proceed towards the banners of the Kingdom Army. I see the Gautier knights and Sylvain’s battalion, and I know he’s there.

Sure enough, Sylvain rides his way towards us, the look on his face changing from ashen grief to that of grim joy. “Bernadetta! Annette! You’re both safe!”

“Gilbert didn’t make it,” Annette says, “We couldn’t take the hill.”

“Goddess,” Sylvain said. He dismounts and runs toward us. “Are you--”

“We can still fight,” I say, not meeting Annette’s eyes. I can feel her nodding next to me, but I leave it to Sylvain to decide whether or not to let us assist him.

Sylvain whistles. “Well, I know Professor Byleth and Ferdinand is fending off Claude and the others. Hilda tried to ambush us north, but Dedue has her on a standstill. Felix, Dimitri, and Ashe are making their way to Edelgard. I’m headed there now, but I need you to find the professor. All our forces are headed towards her. If we hit Edelgard and Hubert, and if we _ win _…”

“We end the battle,” Annette continues Sylvain’s train of thought. “What would you have us do?”

The Gautier heir scratches his head. “There’s a--”

“WATCH OUT!”

One of Sylvain’s knights topples with his steed, and Sylvain--with almost superhuman speed--mounts his horse and turns it toward his battalion. “Gautier, to me!” The great knights ride toward us, circling rapidly, fencing us in.

The hail of arrows that follow surge toward the Gautier knights, but they manage to lift their shields up and cover themselves--and us--before the arrows strike.

I also have my shield up, and Annette--even in her grief--brings up a barrier to cover those around her. Her mouth is set in a grim line, and she stomps toward Sylvain, who opens up a path for her.

Within seconds, she hurls a burst of wind and lightning toward the circle of archers belonging to Linhardt, and I know it becomes a battle of wills between them. Sylvain hurries toward her, screaming out commands for his knights to cover Annette while she goes on a rampage.

I turn and whistle for my wyvern. I mount him again, and instead of helping Sylvain and Annette, I head west. Toward Edelgard.

I want to see her one more time. I want to ask her why.

Mostly I want to ask her what would have happened if I was the archer stationed on that hill. Would she have set it aflame as well? Would she have sacrificed my life to destroy a position she cannot keep? Was this just another means to accomplish her path? Or has she truly succumbed to the powers of the Crest Stones and the monsters created within?

I want to ask her all of this, because if I knew the answers, perhaps I...perhaps…

No. There is no forgiving or understanding. There is no justification for the deaths. There is only death. There is only pain.

And I am still here, afraid that those around me will disappear like Leonie did.

In crimson flames.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't gone to fight at the Battle of Gronder Field since the BL route, and frankly, I don't ever want to do it again (I know I do in the GD route, too! Which is probably why I took a break from playing...). But if you didn't recruit most of the other house members, which was my case the first time, it is a very painful experience and I DON'T WANT TO SEE ANYONE DIE OMG.
> 
> Poor Bernie didn't make my recruit list the first time around, so I'm making it right by her this time around. Nobody should ever put Bernie in the center hill.
> 
> I promise some romantic hijinks in the next chapter, especially since this one went to flames...literally.


	25. Harpstring Moon, 1186 (Part II)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of war leaves Bernie in a state of blahness. It can only get worse until it gets better, right?
> 
> Or that time before the Kingdom recovers from a shaky battle to retake Fhirdiad.

**HARPSTRING MOON, 1186 (Part II)**

Rain begins to fall soon after the battle, scrubbing whatever is left of the flames on the field.

The battle is won, and all three armies fall back to mourn their dead. The Kingdom--what’s left of their forces--stay behind to luxuriate in its glory.

No.

Luxuriate is not the right word. It would imply feeling victorious in this battle we start.

None of us feel that we won. None of us feel that the battle itself is a victory. Too many died for our gain, and not even the rain can wash the memory of flames from my mind.

Hubert whisks Edelgard away before Dimitri can get to her, and the Imperial army disbands soon after. Alliance presence also disappears once Claude and Hilda make their own strategic retreats. It’s only the Kingdom now that stays. Yet I am left with more unanswered questions.

I fly aimlessly across Gronder Field, part of it just to clear my head of the anguish. Another part is to cleanse myself of the grime of battle. Rainclouds darken the sky, and I tilt my head up, letting the water wash down on my face, mixing with the tears I have been shedding for the past hour.

At some point, I can feel my wyvern becoming more uncomfortable in the growing darkness and the steady stream of water, so I land him safely by the raised cliff overlooking the western part of the field.

My wyvern covers himself with his wings, and I perch myself by the edge of the cliff, watching Kingdom soldiers move back and forth across the field, scavenging what is left of those we lost, searching for signs of life. I doubt there is any more, and I choose not to make a move to help. There is only so much I can bear in this war, and staying outside of the battle’s aftermath is more beneficial to my mental sanity.

A part of me thinks about taking a flight to Varley. It is not very far from Gronder Field, and it is an ideal place to convalesce from what has happened. I doubt there would be any more Imperial presence, especially since Randolph is gone. But the thought is fleeting, and I know that thoughts of Varley is just me thinking of excuses to put myself in seclusion once more.

So instead, I watch the rain. I watch it fall with increasing speed as the minutes pass. Almost as though the Goddess is finally looking down on Fodlan and lamenting the state with which she finds it. I’d like to think this rain  _ is  _ the Goddess’ tears, but if that’s the case, then that would imply she’s been watching. And it’s only now that she decides to react.

It’s a messed up case of divine intervention, I think, so I dismiss the notion.

I watch familiar figures further in the field. I watch Ashe circle his wyvern around the camp. I watch Sylvain giving orders to his cavaliers. I watch as Ferdinand joins them, his long hair tousled and damp from the raindrops.

I watch and I see the telltale cloak of Dimitri, his hulking body near the dais where Edelgard had been, before she’d retreated with Hubert.

I watch and see Professor Byleth approach, and I watch the Phantom Lion turn to her, like a flower to the sun.

They are in deep conversation, and for a moment, I become fascinated by their exchange. After five years, Dimitri has become more increasingly intimidating. He towers over the professor, wild and unkempt blonde hair longer and straighter now in the downpour. I can’t see his face from this far a distance, and I can’t make out the words Byleth utters to him.

But I can see their movements, clear even in this rain. I can see Dimitri turning away, can see Byleth hindering him with a stretching of her hand. He turns back to her, and she moves herself closer, pressing the palm of her hand to the side of his face.

Dimitri does not pull away, and he covers her hand with his. They stand there for a long moment, up until Byleth begins to pull her hand away. This time, though, it is Dimitri who stops her, Dimitri who places his gloved hands on both sides of her face.

It is Dimitri who stoops down and kisses her, and the two are enveloped within the boar prince’s cloak.

That is when I turn away, blushing at the intimacy of the moment.

I am not surprised by the turn of events. It has been clear to me that Byleth harbors affection for the shattered prince, and equally clear that somehow Dimitri responds to her, even in his insanity. I am happy for them, and relieved that something-- _ anything-- _ positive came out from this hellish victory.

Because if love can flourish in a field of war, through gray skies and thunderous torrents, then there’s certainly hope for all of us at the end of this miserable business.

* * *

Rodrigue’s death jars me back to reality.

I don’t hear of it until we return to Garreg Mach. Professor Byleth calls us all in for a war council, and at first my entire body aches from the need to sleep. I almost refuse the call, if not for the fact that Ashe pulls me toward the second floor, tears still streaming down his face. He is unable to speak of what he saw, and I know--by the grim expressions Sylvain and Ferdinand hold--that something is amiss.

Dimitri does not join us in this council meeting. I look around and see that Rodrigue and Felix are missing, too.

The war council doesn’t take long to begin, and it is mostly a recounting of the dead. My mind wanders, and I am unable to fathom how many of the Kingdom soldiers were lost during the Battle at Gronder Field.

But soon, as the list of names halts to an end, Byleth tacks in Gilbert and a girl named Fleche, and I look up at her, frowning. The girl’s name is familiar, and it seems as though I’ve heard it before in the same place. It is Ferdinand who reels back, and I remember now why she is familiar.

Fleche, Randolph’s sister. Why does she number one of our dead?

Byleth finally announces that Rodrigue Achille Fraldarius has also perished in the war against the Empire and the Alliance. That we will have to carry on without the Shield of Faerghus fighting for the Kingdom.

“Dammit!” It is Annette who screams and curses, and we look at her, astonished. “Dammit all to Fodlan’s hell!”

Ashe is still slumped over, and Sylvain has both fists clenched on the table. We all react a certain way, and I cannot help but feel the pinprick of tears at hearing the news.

I cannot stay in the council chambers, and I get up.

Byleth looks up at me, though she does not seem alarmed by the movement. If anything, she gazes with a level stare, and nods. She waves her hand to the rest of the room. “According to Fodlan customs, we will mourn our dead for the month. And then…”

She closes her eyes, reopens them. “And then we will head to Fhirdiad.”

* * *

I don’t stay long enough to listen to the rest of the meeting. It has nothing to do with me, and everything to do with the strategies of a march up north.

Instead, I walk the silent halls of the second floor dormitory. I pass the first few rooms, some abandoned, others cluttered by weapons and armor. Ferdinand’s old room is ajar, and I can briefly see books and armor strewn all over his floor.

It is not Ferdinand I wish to see, however, and I continue moving down the hallway, all the way to the end, the third to last room in the noble’s quarters.

“Felix?” I say, knocking softly on the door. I lean my head to the side, trying to discern any noise being made from within. There is no reply, but I notice that the door is not closed properly. It’s not even locked. So I push it open. “Felix…”

The Fraldarius heir is not in his usual state of dress. It’s clear he hasn’t done much after arriving in Garreg Mach other than putting on his black tunic and overcoat pants. His swords are thrown to the far end of the room, his shield upside down and tucked in the corner. The rest of his clothes--the overcoat, boots, and jumper--are randomly discarded in various places in the room. I close the door gently and make my way across to pick each item up. I place them in a neat pile on his shelf.

I do this silently, without disturbing him. He lies on his bed, hands behind his head, eyes toward the ceiling. He stirs somewhat to turn to me, perhaps to watch what I am doing, but I pay him no mind. By the time I finish tidying his things, his eyes are closed.

“You are not a maid servant.” The statement isn’t filled with malice or curiosity. It isn’t filled with any kind of emotion. That’s the most heartbreaking part.

“I know,” I say.

“I don’t need a maid servant.”

“I know.” I sit on the side of his bed, by his feet. I play with the linen, blue and embroidered with the Faerghus emblem.

“Then why are you here?” He props himself up with his elbows to glance at me. There is no intense stare, no frown or glare or beginnings of a smirk. It’s just Felix, with a look so resigned, hopeless.

“I…sorry,” is all I manage to say.

“For  _ what _ ?” There is a spike of indignation, and he sits up fully now, bringing his legs around to sit on the side as I do. “Why are  _ you _ sorry?”

I shake my head. “It’s difficult to put in words. And I can’t pretend to understand how you feel about your fa--”

“So you’ve heard,” he says. He leans down, rests his head on his hands. “About the old man.”

“Felix…”

“He is not something  _ you  _ of all people need to apologize for, Bernadetta. In fact, the less feeling sorry people get around me the better. He is dead, and the only thing  _ I  _ want to know is how  _ that thing  _ plans to atone for Rodrigue Achille Fraldarius’ sacrifice.”

I sidle closer, close enough to put a hand on his shoulder.

Felix Hugo Fraldarius doesn’t cry. He’s not an emotional person. He sits there, with his hands covering his face, and he stays silent as he ruminates over the things that have happened in the last few days. It’s been over a week since Gronder Field, and we are all still shell-shocked by the damage the battle has caused.

I sit there, squeezing his shoulder, dry-eyed and patient. He does not push me away, and somewhere in the back of my head, I think he’s long forgotten our small argument from before Gronder Field. I hope he has.

“My uncle gave me some of my father’s belongings,” he says, voice muffled through his hands. “Weapons, books...but there was something else that my old man really wanted to pass down.”

He sits up, puts a hand on my one that’s on his shoulder. He looks at me, and slowly, that ice and indifference and cold glare softens slightly. “He wanted me to inherit his mission--ensuring that Dimitri ascends the throne.”

Felix brushes my hand away and turns to lie back down on his bed. “Or so I believe.”

I sit there watching him. This time, I am close enough to reach his head, and I brush his hair away from his face. He stares at me, not so much as a question to why I’m being overly…

What am I even doing here? Bernie, you’re way out of your league.

“Will you carry it out?” I ask finally. “Your father’s mission?”

“You mean, will I make sure Dimitri has a fighting chance of getting his throne back?” Felix grimaces at the use of his old friend’s actual name. It must have been a long time since he’s said Dimitri without an ounce of disdain. “I...suppose I will have to now. It wouldn’t be right otherwise.”

“You loved him.”

He opens his eyes, turns his head, traps my hand beneath the pillow and his cheek. Warm breath blows into my palm, and I try my best not to shiver. “The old man? Hardly.”

“You did,” I insist. “Say what you will to keep up your outward appearance of cold and aloof, but deep down you loved your father. You loved your brother. It’s not a bad thing to admit this. If only I could have been so lo--eep! Hey!”

I really don’t know how he moves himself so quickly, because within seconds, Felix has part of me pulled and pinned to the bed, his face hovering over me with a warning glare, hands on either side of my face. I flush, surprised at the turn of events. My heart beats rapidly, and I’m on the verge of some kind of panic attack. Though the whole thing is not entirely unpleasant…

“You presume too much,” he growls. “If this is what you came here to tell me--”

“I didn’t come here planning to say  _ anything _ ,” I say back, giving him my own glare. “I just thought--”

“What? That you’d clean up my messes? That’s not how things work, Bernadetta.”

“What does that even  _ mean _ ?!” I can’t help but whine in agitation. “What  _ things  _ are you even referring to?”

“I…” Amber eyes look uncertain, and some sort of realization dawns on him. I’m pretty sure it goes along the same lines my realization went.

There I am, lying on his bed, his hands to my sides, his mouth oh-so-very-close-to-mine, and what in Fodlan are we both  _ doing _ ?

He sits up immediately, curses. I don’t know if the expletive is addressed to me or to himself. I don’t know what would have happened if he hadn’t moved away. Frankly, I’m a little confused myself. But I’m also aware that if he had done the opposite--if he had moved further down instead of away--I would not have objected. Too much.

“I appreciate you coming in to check on me,” he finally says. “But I think I do need to be alone right now. You of all people should understand that, Bernadetta.”

Oh, I do. But I’m not exactly the Bernadetta of old, either. And instead of doing the Bernie thing, the “leave you in seclusion” thing, I do the  _ stupid, selfish  _ thing.

I pull him by the arm. He looks at me, confused, but I refuse to look him in the eye. I push him down onto the bed. When he’s back in the same position I found him in, I remove my boots and put them to the side.

“What--?”

“ _ Shut up _ , Felix.”

Mercifully, he did.

Mercifully, he says nothing more. So I climb onto the bed and he scoots over.

Mercifully, he continues to say nothing as I stretch myself by his side, laying my head beneath the crook of his arm. Closing my eyes and pressing my hand on his chest.

It is the only comfort I offer, and I half expect him to ask me again what in Fodlan I am doing there. But he doesn’t. In fact, I feel his breathing get slower, get less agitated. I feel his hand on mine, and the slow movement as he makes himself more comfortable around me.

When I feel his even breathing, when I know he is fast asleep, I fall into my own slumber.

For once since the last few nights after the battle at Gronder Field, I don’t dream of fire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "The rain came pouring down  
When I was drowning, that's when I could finally breathe  
And by morning  
Gone was any trace of you, I think I am finally clean"
> 
> So this chapter is largely inspired by Taylor Swift's "Clean", which honestly is hands down one of my favorites (Tay-Swift aside, I effing LOVE that Imogen Heap cro-wrote and sang backup vocals for this song). I know, I know, random, but it's really such a fitting song for a lot of the characters after such a heavy mission. Mostly, the song really fits Dimitri and Bernie in their own ways of coping.


	26. Garland Moon, 1186 (Part I)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bernie is dragged to a foreign land and sky.
> 
> Or that time Petra's paralogue plays out.

**LETTER TO THE ARCHBISHOP**

_ Archbishop Byleth Eisner Blaiddyd _

_ Garreg Mach Monastery, Unified Fodlan _

_ Wyvern Moon _

_ Her Esteemed Archbishop, _

_ It turns out that whatever gut instinct I had can be solely attributed to the fact that this damnable, beautiful, glorious Relic with me just wouldn’t stop barging into my dreams. I tell you this, Archbishop, because the closer I traveled to Hyrm, the more dreams I received each night. It would have likely driven me mad, but the dreams--and the Relic--were well worth it. _

_ I know where Father is. _

_ The thing about the Sword of Moralta and the Aegis Shield is that like calls to like. Somewhere below the depths of Hyrm there is a buzzing sound that refuses to disappear. Somehow, the Fraldarius Relics are abuzz with power, and I know--I just know--that the Aegis is nearby. And it is being wielded once more by a Fraldarius. _

_ So not only do I know for sure that Duke Felix Hugo Fraldarius is still alive, he’s wielding the Aegis once more. _

_ The only problem is trying to pinpoint his exact location. _

_ The Duke of Aegir has joined me for this expedition. I would have refused his help, but Uncle Ferdie is nothing if not utterly relentless in his goals. Besides, it is not out of the way, as he had been traveling to Goneril and took the mountain pass directly from Ordelia to head back south. _

_ Perhaps this is a good thing. I doubt I would have been able to see through searching Hyrm without the help of someone who knows the old Empire ways. Hyrm now is a small village, just below the mountains south of the Airmid River and the Bridge of Myrddin. It is easily missable even on a wyvern, though I understand that it used to be a barony of some sort. There is a manor nearby, abandoned and whatnot, but other than that, it has been an autonomous place, largely undisturbed after the war. _

_ Yet something about its people strikes odd, and many of them are a little hostile to outsiders. I have interacted with a few of them, but not long enough for them to know who I am, and where I’m from. I’ve advised Uncle Ferdie the same caution, though it is harder for him because, well, you know how he talks. You are aware of his mannerisms. _

_ Thankfully, he does less interaction with the villagers than I do. _

_ I feel they have something to hide, and I am on the verge of finding this out. Perhaps they do know about Father. Perhaps they are keeping him trapped within the depths of the mountains. _

_ In any case, I am closer to the truth. Likely my next letter will let you know whether this whole hunt is in vain… _

_ And if you don’t hear from me or Uncle Ferdie at all in a moon’s time, please send whatever help you can muster. I would so hate to die just outside of Gronder Field. _

_ All my love, _

_ Felicity Glenn Fraldarius, Duchess _

_ Hyrm, Old Adrestia, Unified Fodlan _

* * *

**GARLAND MOON, 1186 (Part I)**

Dimitri is a changed man.

His whole outset and demeanor is lighter now, and he’s not just a menacing body skulking around talking to the air in the ruined cathedral. Sure, there’s a bit of grimness and sadness to him, but on the whole, his entire being is just...well… _ right _ .

I’m sure it has many things to do with what I saw in the rain last moon, and what has been gained this moon.

But before I do my own set of victorious gushing, I want to set the events straight in my head. So let’s start from the beginning.

* * *

Talks of marching north to reclaim Fhirdiad becomes more numerous, and before we know it, all of Garreg Mach is anticipating the return of Faerghus as a noble kingdom, not the dukedom that Cornelia has in mind. It is an idea that no longer seems too far away, and an idea many of us can get behind.

But talk is mostly talk, and if we are lacking in soldiers, there may be a problem when it comes to taking the capital back.

The nobles have been mustering as many forces to their command, and with Felix taking the mantle of Fraldarius, there is nothing of the war effort that he is not privy to. I find him constantly in meetings with officers. And when he is not writing his letters to Fraldarius seeking for the consolidation of his soldiers, he is honing his skills back at the training grounds.

Rodrigue’s death has jarred him, but I learned that Felix takes things in stride. He will mourn his own way, and perhaps by the end of this war, he will do so more deeply, but keeping busy and with a single mindset sets his mind at ease.

“There is only so much grieving you can do for the dead,” he says when I walk in on one of his practice bouts with Ferdinand. “I choose to get better, faster, stronger. That is the only homage I can do for my father. For…” he pauses, blinks. I know the word he doesn’t say is his brother’s name, and I don’t press him.

Catherine--who turns out to be a prominent daughter and the ex-heir of Charon--turns to her father for help. She returns with not-so-stellar news, and we are left with whatever forces the other nobles can get. Thankfully, Lysithea has the backing of Ordelia, and Annette holds some sway with her uncle. There is trouble with Baron Dominic, though, but when Annette returns with Professor Byleth, she is holding a Relic.

It is poor consolation to how much Annette has lost, but a Relic can help turn the tides of war.

Yet with all this meager support, none is more surprising than Petra.

I am in the library, observing a perfect stillness, when that peace and quiet is punctuated by Petra and Byleth. I would have been successful in having a complete debate about open spaces and staying inside to vicariously live through books, but I can see Petra has something on her mind, as does Byleth.

“I was wanting to ask if you wish to go to the forest or ocean with me?”

I blink, put the book I am reading down, and watch her. “Um. What? What part of anything I said would make you think I wanted that?”

She smiles, the kind of smile that says she is harboring a secret. Yet, as I look closer at her, the smile doesn’t touch her eyes. If anything, she seems...worried.

“It’s--I am receiving a letter from my grandfather.” I notice the paper she clenches on her fist, and I raise my eyebrow. All the letters she has written, and only  _ now  _ does she get one back? “He is...not wanting to worry me, but I am fearing that he is in great trouble.”

“Is that why you haven’t heard much from him?” Byleth asks. “Has Edelgard attacked Brigid?”

“No. He is wanting to-- _ trying _ to send us soldiers from Brigid, but Edelgard is stopping him with her messengers.”

I nod. “It’s understandable that that would be Edelgard’s stance. She wants to send him messengers to convince Brigid that she’s not their enemy.”

Petra shrugs. “You are saying messengers, but the truth is they are a threat. Brigid is having no power to refuse.”

“I  _ get  _ it, but Petra, what does this have to do with  _ me _ ?”

She turns to Byleth. “Professor was asking this of me. I was told...if I am going to a far away place, to be taking Bernie with me, since she is hiding away.”

I scowl. I can’t believe Byleth would have Petra  _ drag  _ me away. “Professor! What did I do to deserve  _ this _ ?! I know I’m a recluse, but I do go out on missions once in a while!”

I try not to blush. The last time I went on a mission had been moons back, and these days, I go out just to look for Felix.

“You can’t refuse,” Byleth says simply. She smirks. “Remember our conversation, right?”

I throw up my hands. “Tyranny! Abuse of power! I have rights!”

“That you do,” Byleth agrees. “But I’m your commanding officer.”

“I...you’re not wrong,” I mutter, the fuel of rebellion quashed in me.

But really, how can I refuse Petra after all this time? “Bernie, I am wanting this as well. Please join me.”

“Ugh. Since you put it that way, Petra...I’ll think about it. Do you really want me to go,  _ Professor _ ?”

Two can play  _ that  _ game.

* * *

Getting Petra an audience with her grandfather is an absolute  _ nightmare _ .

To top that off, we are faced with Hubert, whose magic is more monstrous than before.

I navigate through the western part of the forest, Mercedes and Dorothea by my side. I regret not having my wyvern with me, but when it comes to making our way stealthily through dense foliage, it makes better sense to be camouflaged by the leaves. That means no flying, and definitely no large creature getting between my enemy and me.

When we get to the location Petra takes us to, the enemy is already there, and Byleth ends up splitting our small set of forces in two directions.

At first the idea seems sound, but the more screaming I hear in the east, the more jarring the mission becomes. I am sweating nervously by the time we come out in the open.

“Bernie, stop!” Dorothea hisses, and I immediately freeze. She steps gingerly in front of me, draws a sign around us. She points to the clearing. “Something’s not right. There’s movement between the trees.”

“I can feel it, too,” Mercedes whispers, the magic in her hands already brimming and ready to go. “There’s--look!”

That’s when the familiar face of Hubert shows up, and Dorothea immediately goes on defense. “Stay behind me,” she says sharply, fire bursting from her fingers.

“Well, well, well,” Hubert grins, raising his hand, signaling someone hidden in the trees. “This little diplomatic errand to Brigid just got interesting. It seems we have some special guests.” Several knights and archers emerge into the clearing, and I can see we are outnumbered. “Capture the road ahead before they reach it!”

Seeing Hubert brings too many memories back, and I am frightened by how much his isolation from the rest of us changes him. His hair has been cut short, his dark clothes making him more austere. The magic he holds in his hands is a dark magic I’ve only seen in one other person, and she’s unfortunately in recovery.

I cannot help the screaming that I do. I cannot help that Hubert frightens me so.

He laughs in response. “Go on and scream, if it makes you feel better. But if you could die swiftly and without a struggle, I would  _ greatly  _ appreciate it.”

“How  _ could you _ , Hubie?” Dorothea spits out. I can feel her shake, but she does not let on that she is afraid. If anything, the anger in her overtakes the fear. “How could you do this to Ferdie?”

There is mercilessness in Hubert that I have always seen since I was part of the Black Eagles. But here, in this forest, in that one instant, I can see his magic falter. Perhaps if Ferdinand had been here...perhaps if the words came out of his own mouth, and not through Dorothea’s…

But Ferdinand is not here, and Hubert’s hesitation lasts for a mere few seconds before his magic fully flares up again. Nobody else notices his slight weakness, and he growls. “Everything I have done is for Emperor Edelgard.  _ You  _ band of ruffians gave us no choice in the matter. I have no choice but to cut a bloody path!”

I shake my head. I am more than tempted to hide behind Dorothea, but instead, I step beside her, I look Hubert in the eyes. “Everyone has…” I take a deep breath. “Everyone has a choice, Hubert. Yours...yours is just the wrong one.”

“Enough talk,” he snaps, flicks the magic toward us.

Dorothea draws a circle of flames, dispelling the dark spell headed for us. It is enough of a signal for the rest of Hubert’s men to attack.

I draw my bow and begin shooting at enemies coming toward us. Mercedes prevents the knights from coming through, her magic bright and potent as the stars in the sky. I take a moment to admire her readiness in battle. It is not often we see Mercedes in the middle of a fight, but people underestimate her because she’s so gentle in the infirmary.

Hubert’s soldiers severely underestimate her, and even as she says a short prayer after each knight she strikes, she does not stop.

The distraction almost costs me my own head, and I silently curse as a paladin rushes at me, mace ready to swing.

I shoot the arrow and miss, but I throw myself to the ground before the paladin can get a hit. When she turns back our way, Mercedes is quick to shoot at her with a massive circle of fire. The forest floor is singed, and I look on in horror as there is nothing left of the attacker. Mercedes shakes, though whether it is the unease of having killed someone or the use of magic, I cannot tell.

Dorothea and Mercedes can only do so much, so I pick off the archers, making sure to avoid the range of fire and sparks raging through the forest. It’s becoming too hot in the clearing, and before I know it, I am out of arrows.

I run towards one of the fallen paladins, grab the javelin he drops. It is lighter than the lances I use in the training grounds. For all their flowery words and skewed relationship advice, Ferdinand and Sylvain are good teachers, and I find myself handling the javelin with ease. I run toward the swordsmen that approach from behind Hubert.

Edelgard’s most formidable mage is still locked in battle with Dorothea, and most of us steer a wide path away from them. I am afraid for Dorothea, who grips her magic tightly by her fingertips. She is not as well-practiced with it as she is with the sword, and it is clear that Hubert is the more superior of the two.

I do not know how long she will last.

I swing my javelin at an assassin and he crumples to the ground. I don’t wait to see if he is dead, because I immediately head toward Dorothea.

A good thing, too, because she starts to make mistakes. It is not noticeable at first, but there’s a stumble here, a stumble there. She screams when Hubert gets a hit, the dark magic wrapping around her arm like a vine snaking its way and choking the life out of a tree.

“Get it off, get it off, get it  _ off _ !” Dorothea wails, and I panic. Hubert is distances away, tight-lipped and wrenching his fist, concentrating on his control over Dorothea.

I don’t think. I just know that if I don’t do something  _ now _ , I will lose someone dear to me. Someone who has been there since the beginning, even though I had been so adamant in not wanting anything to do with her.

I take the javelin and throw.

“Aurgh!” Hubert screams, clutching at his injured arm. The javelin makes contact, and he stumbles backward. Whatever magic he uses disappears from Dorothea, and she looks at me gratefully.

I find a few arrows on an archer nearby, and I pick them up, nocking one arrow into the bow and pointing it at Hubert. Dorothea readies her hand with another fireball, ready to throw at the newly appointed count.

Hubert grimaces. “Heh. No more I can do here.” He looks around, and sees that the troops are thinning. “I must withdraw.”

“I don’t ever want to see your face again, Hubie,” Dorothea spits out with rage. “Ferdie may not ever want to kill you, but I  _ will _ the next time I see you.”

“Death is inevitable to us all in the end, Dorothea,” Hubert says. He cradles his arm and looks at us. “When next we meet, you better hope you kill me. Because I will be coming for you. I will carve you all up and serve you to the Emperor. Even  _ von Aegir _ .”

He disappears, and the clearing grows quiet, save for our heavy breathing. Dorothea collapses, and she lets the tears fall, sobbing unabashedly into the silence.

Mercedes makes her way toward us. She places a hand on my shoulder, and I can feel her healing magic make me whole again. It is surprising how tired I am, but Mercedes weaves her very essence into mine, and we are both refreshed by the contact.

“Dorothea,” Mercedes begins, but I interrupt.

“We need to get out of here,” I say. I help Dorothea up, and Mercedes checks on her before we leave the forest.

In the east, the battle also dies down, and Petra is able to make her way to her grandfather.

As we all wait for negotiations to complete, I wander into a section of the forest that is untouched by the battle. I find a place to sit, and I soak in the peace of the forest. There is a plant nearby that reminds me of the pitcher plants I grow at Garreg Mach.

I almost jump when I hear someone stumbling through the forest. I hear retching at a nearby tree. When I go to look, I find that it’s Mercedes falling sick and dispelling her stomach contents onto the tree’s side.

Mercedes whips her head up and sees me as I make my way to her. The look in her eyes is despair, and she whimpers. “Bernadetta! I...I am sorry. I thought I was alone! I--”

It dawns on me that this must be the first time she has killed someone. Several someones. “It’s okay, Mercie. I just wanted to see if you’re alright.”

She sighs. “Let’s get away from the tree. I fear I may have gotten severely sick from the battle.”

We find a log to sit on further from the tree. Mercedes remains quiet, though I know she is turning the events of the day in her head. I try to think of the first time I killed someone in battle, but it is hard to remember. Perhaps I  _ am  _ becoming numb from this war. Perhaps I, too, am becoming a monster.

“I wish I could say it gets easier,” I tell her, “but it doesn’t. You eventually just...do it to survive.”

“I know,” she says softly. “It’s just...I can see why Dimitri tries to keep me away from battle. He knows I don’t have the stomach for it.” Mercedes straightens. “But I will do it again,” she says more sternly. “I will do it again and again because there is no other alternative.”

Admirable is Mercedes von Martritz. I bump her shoulder affectionately. “You do so much for us, Mercie. Thank you.”

This elicits a small smile. “Goddess willing, Lysithea and Annette will be back to take over,” she says wistfully. “And I can go back to healing your silly injuries instead.”

“But for now,” she closes her eyes, reopens them. I see the conviction in her stare, hear the evenness in her voice. “For now, I will do what I must.”

* * *

When we return to Garreg Mach, I am unsurprised that Felix hears about our expedition.

What surprises me is that I find him leaning on the door to my room. The scowl on his face makes me stop, and I raise my eyebrow.

Goddess, I am too tired to guess what has him irked at me  _ this time _ .

“How was your mission?” he says without a show of emotion.

I shrug. He lets me through  _ my own door _ , and I don’t bother to stop him from entering. I drop my bow and start ridding myself of the leather harness I keep to hold onto my quiver. “Aside from the near-death experience against Hubert? The plants were nice.”

“I heard about Hubert,” he says evenly. “He is a dangerous man. I’m...taken aback that he should show up in such a place.”

“Why?” I ask. I remove my boots. I don’t bother to look at Felix. If I do, I might be embarrassed by how carelessly I throw things to the side. What I really want to do is jump into the sauna and relax alone, but that isn’t an option just yet. “Come to think of it, getting Brigid to ally itself with Dimitri is something Edelgard would not want. It’s natural that she’d send someone, uh, competent, to see that Petra is stopped.”

I fumble with my gloves, and Felix approaches, helping me unlatch the clips. I watch him carefully. His head is bowed over, and I see nothing but the top of his dark hair. I can’t help but blush at the contact. We don’t talk about what happened after Rodrigue’s death. Sometimes I think he’s decided to forget it ever happened at all. But then there are times like this when he pays too much attention to me.

The whole thing is confusing, and I regret having tried to comfort him in the first place.

“You should stop being so careless,” he finally says after removing both gloves and putting them gently on my table. “As I said, Hubert von Vestra is a dangerous man.”

I shiver despite the need to stay strong. I can’t help but remember Hubert in those last moments. The resolve in his eyes. The murderous intent.

_ Even von Aegir _ .

I know then and there that Hubert will stop at nothing. That Hubert can no longer be redeemed.

“Yes, he is,” I agree. “And next time Byleth tries to pit me against him, I’m going to need you in front of me with that shield of yours.”

He looks up and narrows his eyes. We are far too close, and I feel as if he’s trying to decide what to do next. He tightens his lip. “Don’t joke.”

I snort. I get up before he can stop me and show him to the door. “I wish I was joking, but truth be told, I  _ am  _ scared of Hubert. He  _ is _ , however, just as human as you and me. And I trust you can keep me alive long enough for me to nick him again if I have to.”

“Humph,” he says, rising as well. He walks out, stops at the entrance. Before I can close the door on him, he turns, tilts his head to the side. Amber eyes watch me carefully, and he grunts. “You won’t need to nick him next time. I’ll kill him myself if he harms you.”

I shiver again. This time, however, it’s not out of fear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wowie, I didn't think this chapter would get this long. It's taking a bit longer to close this story up, but I love character development, and one of the unsung heroes of my version of this war is Mercedes. I haven't yet seen her interaction with Jeritza (I might have taken a break from playing Three Houses because uh...Persona 5 happened), but I absolutely loved her as a gremory, and phooie, the damage she can cause as an attack mage...
> 
> Also, yes, I couldn't help it. I needed to add some Felix-Bernie fluff at the end, because honestly, after the Rodrigue thing last chapter, YOU KNOW MORE FLUFF IS COMING.


	27. Garland Moon, 1186 (Part II)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bernie and the Blue Lions takes back the castle and revels in sweet, sweet victory.
> 
> Or that time Dimitri pulls an Aragorn (son of Arathorn) and returns to Fhirdiad a savior king.

**GARLAND MOON, 1186 (Part II)**

I will admit, without Petra’s and the Church’s troops assisting us in the battle, Fhirdiad would have been a lost cause.

The city streets are far from silent and empty. At the news of the Kingdom’s loyalist factions approaching from Garreg Mach, many of the city’s inhabitants grow bolder. Riots and rebellions abound, and when we join the fray, Fhirdiad’s palace streets are all but in the middle of a siege.

“I give you two commands!” Dimitri shouts to us at the gates of the city. “Stay alive, and follow your heart! That is all I ask. The gates to the Kingdom capital are open. Join me! It is time to take back our home!”

The speech he gives is far different from Gronder Field, and much more motivating to all of us, even those who’ve never lived in the Kingdom cities.

At first I think Cornelia is doing nothing to stop the rebels, but that is when we see the giant monstrous machines marching down, magically controlled by something. Perhaps even  _ someone _ .

“What sort of titan are we fighting here?” I squeak, clenching my bow to me. “I don’t even know where to begin shooting that!”

Ashe whistles. “Those things look like creatures of legend. Something only fiction can create.”

“Yeah, well, clearly this isn’t one of your chivalry novels, Ashe, and we still need to figure out how to break that thing!”

Felix laughs. It’s a sound I don’t think I’ve ever really heard from him. I can’t believe he’s  _ enjoying  _ this moment. I’m up to my knees in fear and panic. “Anything controlled by magic can be broken.” He raises the two Relics passed down his Fraldarius line, and he grins maniacally. “I will see to their defeat. Dimitri! You better not lose!”

The uncrowned king hears him, and he, too, lets out a laugh. “I swear it by the blood in my veins!”

It is enough for Felix, and he nods in acknowledgement. The two share a salute, and I know deep down that whatever feud they had been in is almost gone now. Felix responds to action, and Dimitri...well. Dimitri is now in his element. The warrior king. The savior of Fhirdiad.

Felix turns away, looks at me. He takes several steps, ducks underneath my wyvern’s outstretched wing, and helps steady the finicky beast with a gloved hand. My wyvern mostly blocks me from view, and I suppose that is probably why Felix does what he does.

“It wouldn’t do for you to get killed out there, Bernadetta,” he says. “I would be most irritated if you did.”

“Hah!” I say weakly. “You and me both.”

“Are you afraid?”

“I would be lying if I said no,” I say, grimacing at the thought of having to shoot the titan machines down. “Who isn’t at this point in time? We’re taking back the  _ Kingdom capital _ , Felix, no pressure or anything.”

“Good,” he says, as though my fear is going to help me in battle. “You always work best that way.”

“Panicking like a maniac?”

“And surviving the worst thrown at you.” He grasps both my shoulders, pulls me in, bends down a little bit. I don’t even realize he’s locked his lips on mine.

And by the time I can even react, it’s all over, and he’s pulling away.

Goddess almighty above. Felix Hugo Fraldarius just kissed me.

“For luck,” he says, nods, and walks away. Like the whole thing was totally normal.

Completely and utterly so.

“Oh...wow,” Ashe says, looking at me with an amused smirk. “Now  _ that _ I didn’t expect. Especially from Felix.”

“Whaaa... _ you saw that _ ?”

Ashe waves his hands, trying to hold his laughter at bay. But I am utterly at a loss for words, and holy Seiros, somebody shoot me down right now.

Thankfully, Byleth makes her way to Ashe and me, and I am saved from flailing in panic. “I want you following Dimitri. Make sure he doesn’t get too close in the way of the mages,” she says.

“And if they do?” Ashe asks.

The professor has steel in her luminescent eyes. “Then you  _ shoot them down _ .”

I gulp and nod. Ashe bows. We mount our wyverns and fly behind Dimitri. Byleth spreads more orders across the line, sending Petra west with Felix and Annette. Ingrid takes the east with Lysithea and Sylvain. It is Dedue, Dimitri, Mercedes, and Byleth going straight through, Ashe and me flanking in the back.

I glance at Sylvain, black armor shining in the setting sun. He smiles at me and waves, twirls the Lance of Ruin like the showoff he is.

“Time to take back the castle, I suppose,” I murmur. Mercedes--pale and perched on her own horse--smiles at me. She must have heard my muttering, because she winks. I am glad she is at least a little bit back to her old self. I know for sure she is nervous, too.

The Titans themselves are the hardest hitters, but Dimitri--with his massive strength and surprising ability to withstand hits from the mechanical monsters--runs at them, his Relic, Areadbhar, glowing gold as it makes impact with metal. One by one, soldiers and Titans fall, and with Byleth and Dimitri working in a single tandem, we are all pushing towards Cornelia.

“She’s  _ mine _ . Mercedes, now!” Dimitri growls, and Mercedes warps him to the gremory. Ashe and I hurry towards Cornelia as well, making sure that Dimitri is not harmed by the magic.

We need not worry. Areadbhar glistens as Dimitri strikes her even before he’s landed mid-warp. She stumbles back, laughs incredulously. She says something to Dimitri, and he hesitates. I cannot catch her words or his, but it is clear from the growing anger in his expression that she is baiting him. That she plans to get the last laugh.

I ready my bow, as does Ashe, but Cornelia finally falls, and all around us, the Titans stop at their tracks, no longer ruled by a mistress.

One by one, Dukedom soldiers drop their weapons, the battle lost. One by one, we hear the cries of victory, shouted by Kingdom loyalists, by the Church soldiers on reserve. Somewhere in the distance, I know even the rebels have found out that their battle is won.

Cries of “Long live the King of Faerghus!” and “Fhirdiad is freed!” ring out in the city streets, and the capital rejoices after a long five years of a sham of a Dukedom. Dimitri’s entry into the city, his cloak billowing behind him, his massive frame dwarfing many of his soldiers save Dedue, causes an uproar, and people clamor to touch his cloak, to speak a word to him. It is admirable that he stops almost every time one of his people get through, to speak words of kindness before he is ushered back and led towards the palace.

There is wonder and surprise in his expression as he makes his way onto the balcony. There are tears welling in his eyes when he glances down to see that all of Fhirdiad rejoices his presence. Perhaps he is unbelieving of the impact he has on his own people, but judging from the cries of “Hail Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd!” and “Long live King Dimitri!” it is clear that they love him.

The kingdom is no longer without its king. And his return is all they need to bolster themselves with hope.

It is a beautiful sight, and even I admit I am shedding my own tears of joy.

* * *

The feast that follows is grand and magnificent, and it far surpasses the celebration of five years ago. The grand hall is decked out in Faerghus colors, blue and silver and gold. Dimitri is at the height of its victory, at the head of the table, with Byleth sitting to his right. Seteth takes the honor of the left where the Archbishop should have been, and Flayn is seated just next to him. For the most part, formalities have been shunned in place of a mingling of classes.

I eye the table full of sweets and make a beeline for it. The crowd of people celebrating with us would have bothered me, but I am hungry and exhausted and I cannot be bothered to feel shy when there is sweet,  _ sweet _ food in front of me.

Besides, I am no longer the Bernadetta of old! Bow to me, shyness! I have conquered thee!

But seriously, the food!

“Did you see the cake?” Lysithea gushes in the middle of stuffing her face with some kind of custard or pastry--or maybe even both. “It’s heavenly and divine, and--”

“I’m on my way!” I say happily. Annette is already moving away, her plate filled with all manner of assorted things. Nearby, I can see Ferdinand regaling his avid listeners with stories of Gronder Field and the battle that took place outside their own homes.

Sylvain and Ingrid are deep in the cups, giggling at nothing and everything, their heads bowed as though whispering secrets to each other. Shamir and Catherine are holding hands, and Catherine pulls the Dagdan archer away from the banquet hall and the clamor of the noise.

Petra, Dorothea, and Ignatz are holding their own celebratory toasts, marveling at the way the grand banquet hall is decorated.

“The craftsmanship is  _ amazing _ ,” Ignatz gushes. “If I could spend my days here for years at a time, I would still not be able to capture the very essence in the stones!”

“It’s a good thing that you’re not being asked to paint its likeness, then,” Dorothea grins. She sees me, raises a cup, and toasts. Petra waves to acknowledge me. I smile and wave at both of them.

Even Dedue is finding it difficult  _ not  _ to smile, and he is sitting with Ashe, discussing the best ways to prepare fish. I leave both of them to it, and plonk myself on a seat by Mercedes.

The healer is sitting quietly by herself, and I wonder if the whole spectacle of a grand feast bothers her. “A copper coin for your thoughts?” I say as I begin munching on my food.

“Hmm?” She says, realizes I’m sitting next to her. “Oh! Bernie. Sorry, I’m in my own little world right now.”

“I can see that,” I say. “We’ve won so far, you know. Isn’t it time to do a little celebrating of your own?”

I spy Professor Manuela and Professor Hanneman arguing drunkenly in the corner and try not to make eye contact. Thankfully, Cyril is trying to keep both of them from really killing each other. I try to find someone else--someone who is unsurprisingly not in the banquet hall--but I don’t see him.

“It’s not that I’m uneasy, Bernie,” Mercedes says. She sighs. “I’m actually glad for Dimitri. It’s just…”

“It’s taken a lot,” I finish her train of thought.

Her eyes light up. “Yes, exactly! I just...not to be ungrateful or anything, but with all that fighting, and the things Cornelia said about the Tragedy of Duscur…”

I nod. Dimitri doesn’t take long to tell us of what Cornelia said to him before she died. It is disheartening at best, knowing that most of Dimitri’s life vanished because of the selfish movements of his stepmother.

Edelgard’s  _ mother _ .

Somehow, the notion that Edelgard and Dimitri are step-siblings by marriage is still a jarring thought. It’s no wonder Mercedes is a little disconnected. She definitely relates.

I shiver at the thought. “Mercie, can I tell you something?”

“Of course.” She tilts her head to show that she’s fully attentive.

“I...I know we’re still a long way from winning this war,” I begin, “but with how we managed to win, I think it’s indication enough that we’re nearing the end. I think Dimitri and the professor will take us all the way through.”

Mecedes’ eyes widen, and she breaks out into the sweetest smile ever. “You know, Bernie, you’re very insightful! That’s the most hopeful thing I’ve heard anyone say the last couple of days.”

“Hah, it’ll probably be the last you’ll hear from me,” I say, in great spirits. “Seriously though, Mercie, take it all in. We did this. We  _ won  _ the kingdom back. For Dimitri.  _ You  _ did what you must.”

“Yes. Yes, I did.” Mercedes looks around her. “I really did.”

* * *

I sneak out with a massive helping of treats for my midnight snack. It doesn’t take long to extricate myself from the noise and the din. A lot of people are already getting drunk out of their minds, and even  _ Ingrid  _ is dancing and singing aloud on the table. By the time Annette and Ashe start clapping and dancing, too, I know it’s my time to retreat.

I make my way to the open portcullis and hesitate at the entrance. The city streets would be rejoicing as well, and I would rather look at the view than join in the revelry. So I make my way up the castle keep, just by the courtyard bailey. I walk down the line of shrubbery, and my breath fogs up the area on this chilly night.

When I hear the commotion, I freeze, almost afraid that I’d stepped into some lover’s tryst nearby.

Turns out, though, that it’s only Byleth and Dimitri.

Wait.

The two seem to be in a deep conversation, yet I can see that there is an intimacy I do not want to interrupt. If the scene I saw at Gronder Field was any indication of their budding relationship, then I know for a fact that they will not appreciate me interrupting their moment.

So I turn around.

That is also a mistake.

Leaning by a trellis, obscured by shadows, is the one person who I didn’t see take part in the feast below. The one I’m  _ trying  _ to avoid and not avoid. I’m still confused on that part myself.

He emerges from the darkness and puts a finger to his lips, points to the direction of Byleth and Dimitri. I raise an eyebrow. Does he know, too? Felix motions for me to follow him, and I pad silently away from the King of Faerghus and the interim Archbishop.

Yeesh. That’s going to be  _ some  _ union in the future, I muse to myself. If we all survive this war, that is.

“You...must approve of that,” I finally say now that we are out of earshot.

“Of what?” he grumbles, finds a bench to sit on. I sit beside him, though I make sure to stay an arm’s length away. “Of the Boar Prince and the Professor?”

“King,” I correct him. “He’s a Boar King now. And your king, looks like.”

He snorts. “Yours as well, when the war is won. But yes, I suppose. The King. Dimitri.” He rubs his hair, and leans back, resting his head on the back of the bench and looking up at the star-strewn sky. “It’s neither here nor there. Dimitri can love who he wants. Besides, the Archbishop is not a bad match. A bit inconvenient later on, I suppose, but it’ll be something to talk about in centuries to come.”

“Interim Archbishop.”

“...What?”

“Byleth is only interim Archbishop. We’ll find Rhea and things can go back to--”

“Heh,” Felix says, “If we find her. If she’s not dead. Too many ifs. I think it’s safe to say that Byleth will be Archbishop, unless she chooses to dissolve the Church of Seiros. But that’s really not our business either way, is it?”

I sigh. He’s right, of course. Regardless of what happens, far be it for me to judge how the politics will go.

Still...the thought of Byleth as the actual Archbishop takes getting used to.

“Not a bad view, but not as impressive as the Goddess Tower.”

“Nothing is as impressive as the Goddess Tower.”

“I suppose not.” He turns to me now, his own misty breath warming the space between us. “Will you go back to Garreg Mach?”

I’m confused by the question. “Well, yes. Don’t we  _ all  _ have to?”

“I mean later,” he shrugs. “After.”

After the war is won, he means. After we march to Enbarr and kill Edelgard. After, after, after. But there’s so much to think about that I don’t even know what to do. There’s my father, who’s still deposed and imprisoned somewhere in a moldy dungeon. There’s my mother, who’s sided with Edelgard. News of Varley’s changed allegiance has been sent to me with increasing urgency that I’ve been stuffing those letters underneath my pillows.

“I...don’t know,” I say truthfully. “Suppose that depends on whether King Dimitri will let me keep the Varley lands. Or if  _ I  _ decide to.”

“What would you do with it if you left?”

“It’s not…wait, why do you even care?” It occurs to me that Felix doesn’t ask meaningless questions.

He turns away. “It’s a hypothetical that I tend to think about from time to time. What if I threw all this away? What would I do?”

“You’d never!”

“I didn’t say I  _ would _ ,” he says, shifts in his seat. “Frankly, now that Dimitri is seeing to his end of his promise, I can’t exactly just renounce the Fraldarius title to become a wandering swordsman. It’d be an amusing fact, sure, but I have my own oaths of fealty to swear. Once the King of Faerghus is officially crowned, I’ll be expected to serve in some way. Like my father did.”

The thought of Felix just wandering Fodlan as a vagabond strikes me as plausible given certain circumstances. It would be no different than Shamir, who often takes herself to wandering.

But I can’t seem to unsee Felix in his finery, his Fraldarius cloaks and his inherited weaponry. Sure, the title doesn’t make the man, and Felix is his own person, but...the responsibility he carries with him, and the family he holds dear...well, that’s everything that makes him  _ him _ , too. I wouldn’t be able to imagine Felix Hugo Fraldarius any other way.

“If I left Varley…” I think, then I remember mother, and I shrug. “Mother wouldn’t be happy about it, but I think she will just remarry and move on. The Varley line would end unless I somehow have some sort of relative somewhere that I don’t know about--which is possible, honestly--and the entire place would most likely get sucked in by some other holding or place. Bergliez has several members of its family in the south…”

“So you  _ have  _ thought about it.”

“You’re not the  _ only  _ one thinking in hypotheticals! Give me some credit here.”

He chuckles, and I stiffen. What in Fodlan is the matter with the man? Clearly he hasn’t been drinking, so why the mirth?

“You’ve certainly changed.” He gets up smooths his shirt down and holds out a hand.

I stare at the outstretched hand, puzzled. I must have continued to stare, because he clears his throat. “You’re getting cold, and it’s getting late. I don’t think you’ve really been inside Fhirdiad’s palace, have you?”

“Uh...no?”

He smirks. “Then come. We’ll have a grand tour.”

I don’t know what induces me to agree, but I place my hand in his and he pulls me up. We head back inside, his hand still intertwined with mine, and I say nothing about the warmth that creeps from my hands all the way to my cheeks.

It isn’t until later that I realize we don’t discuss the kiss at all.

Damn it, Bernie, pull yourself together!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not gonna lie, compared to the pain and agony of the battle at Gronder Field, taking over Fhirdiad was a piece of cake. The Titanus were a surprise, but honestly, when you've got Felix and several Relic users hammering at them, even they're cakewalks. I guess it's much easier to destroy when there isn't any emotional value being placed to each Titanus. And Cornelia's pretty much a bitch all the way through, so.... #sorrynotsorry
> 
> Also, tsun-tsun Felix isn't so tsun-tsun anymore. Bernie doesn't quite know how to feel about this. Neither do I. Maybe I'll just...go to this corner and squee a bit.


	28. Blue Sea Moon, 1186 (Part I)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bernie pieces a few things together about the Golden Deer's noble leader.
> 
> Or that time where Claude asks Dimitri for help and the King of Faerghus delivers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The holidays are a killer! But we're closing in on an endgame, so it's totally okay for me to slack off a bit...right?

**LETTER TO THE KING**

_ King Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd _

_ Fhirdiad, Faerghus, Unified Fodlan _

_ Ethereal Moon _

_ Dimitri, _

_ The entirety of Fodlan only knows how very glad I am to pen this letter myself. And I say this knowing I’m addressing  _ you _ . _

_ I have returned from the underworld. _

_ My daughter thinks I’ve turned into her mother, being dramatic and poetic at the same time, but it truly feels as if I’m back from the dead. After having been in darkness for so many moons, seeing the light of day, writing a letter by candlelight, and being able to hear the world above in its fullness is more than I could ask for. _

_ I don’t know how long it’s been, though Fey has told me it’s been over a year since you’ve started inquiring after me. This alarms me more than you know. I’ve been abducted shortly after I arrived at Varley, and about as far back as two moons ago, I can’t remember anything else. It’s a frightening thought, but somehow these Agarthans must have done something to keep me in stasis. Until recently, that is. _

_ Agartha. It’s a word I’ve heard too often after being underground. There are stories to tell you about my time there, but suffice to say that there are those who slither in the dark, and many of them have been at work for centuries. _

_ After escaping my clutches, I’d hidden myself in the underground city. It turns out that not all Agarthans are out to destroy the living world as we know it, but most of them do. It is fortunate that in my attempts to survive, I encountered a few who were willing to hide me from Anaximander, Agartha’s very own leader. _

_ We encountered the Agarthans before, do you remember, Dimitri? A few times, in fact. Solon, Kronya...both were Agarthans. Byleth might recognize Thales, though neither of us actually saw him in his hidden form. But we did kill him. He’d taken the guise of Lord Arundel long before the Unification War. _

_ Surprised? I was, too. At first. But when you’re in darkness for so long, and the only talking you get is with a strange but knowledgeable Agarthan scholar couple living in some underworld slum, then you’re bound to believe anything. _

_ I hope you’ve resolved your troubles north. Fey tells me that’s where you’d been bound for most of the year. I have my suspicions about where the Srengi got the funds to buy their own wyverns, and it definitely isn’t Almyra. Not unless they have an abundance of Agarthium to trade for money. _

_ Where you should really be heading is south. To Hyrm. To Shambala. _

_ I don’t know how long it will take for you to march an expedition here, but we need to deal with these Agarthans. They have been harboring this hatred for the people of Fodlan for over a thousand years now, and there were wars thousands of years back that prove this. They know that Byleth is the progenitor god. They want to finish what they started. This Anaximander is amassing an army, and they’re out for the Crest Stones at Garreg Mach. _

_ But, Dimitri, that’s not all. _

_ Their predecessors were also responsible for the massacre at Duscur. We’ve  _ found  _ the ones who killed your father, Dimitri. We’ve  _ found  _ the ones who’ve killed Glenn. Edelgard may have been the knife in our backs, but the wounds inflicted have been there since before her involvement. _

_ Fey has suggested that this is a problem for the Archbishop, but I know you. You’d want to be able to spring into action as well. So finish up your celebrations in Fhirdiad. Dance with your wife on your birthday. Then, for the love of Seiros, bring her with you when you march south. We’re going to need all the help we can get. _

_ Oh. Happy birthday. _

_ Felix Hugo Fraldarius, Duke _

_ Hyrm, Old Adrestia, Unified Fodlan _

_ P.S. Hypatia is the name of the one who helped me out of my prison. Her husband Zeno had made it his mission to get me back aboveground. Both paid for my freedom with their lives. We don’t owe it to the dead to get revenge, but I shall honor their names for what they've done for me. _

* * *

**BLUE SEA MOON, 1186 (Part I)**

The plea from Derdriu comes at a perfect time.

Now that Dimitri has taken Fhirdiad and regained footing over Faerghus, a messenger arrives soon after to ask him for aid. The Alliance is continually being bombarded by Imperial forces, and Claude is desperate.

Of course, Dimitri agrees wholeheartedly.

I’m a little more reluctant to travel to Derdriu. It’s difficult facing Claude, not after seeing Leonie perish only a few moons ago. Not after knowing that a few moons ago, we’d been enemies.

But Byleth and Dimitri are one mind about this, and they are adamant in saving Claude von Riegan.

* * *

Derdriu is a far different place from that of Fhirdiad.

For one, it is warmer. For another, it is a city by the water, and I can smell the sea-salt breeze and the varnished polish of wooden ships.

Many of the ships are sailing out of the harbor, and on a wyvern, I can see that they all fly the crest of von Riegan.

“Unbelievable,” Ashe says, voice in awe and wonder. “He’s evacuating the city.”

I look through my spyglass and aim it toward the port, and sure enough, I see Claude on his own wyvern--a beautiful albino steed--herding the last set of civilians on boats. Within the city proper, Imperial soldiers march, at its head Lord Arundel.

I shiver. Lord Arundel, Edelgard’s uncle. Dimitri’s, too. He is a formidable man, and if he’s helming the attack on Derdriu, then we’re in for a fight.

All the same, I am surprised by the amount of wyvern riders coming in for the fight. Wherever Claude is getting his troops, it’s not within Alliance territory.

“They are not of Fodlan’s coloring,” Petra remarks, flying by us on her pegasus. “Look. They are closer to my people in Brigid. Yet they are wearing strange attire…”

“Unreal,” Ashe says again. “That’s not Alliance army. That’s--”

But whatever Ashe has to say is drowned out by the booming of cannons and the fighting in the city. The three of us fly toward the town, taking our positions as Byleth ordered.

I post myself on the battlements overlooking the city walls. The gates are drawn closed, and no more ships are passing through. Archers are stationed at the top of the walls, flanked by wyvern riders as protection. One of them has a bow pointed at me, but I hold up the Blaiddyd banner and a soldier barks at him.

“She’s reinforcement,” he says, chastising the archer.

“It’s fine,” I say, alighting from my wyvern. “Better being overcautious than careless. How are things here?”

“Wish I’d be down there protecting the people,” the archer mumbles, giving me a bow. “But Claude says we’re to stay up here.”

“S’not the  _ only  _ reason why you’re up and complainin’, though, eh, laddie?” grins a swarthy man with a few missing teeth. He’s also got a bow on his back. “You’ve got to deal with us, too.”

“Almyrans,” the archer says, spits on the ground.

“Oi!” barks who I think is the general. “These  _ Almyrans  _ are the ones saving our hides right now. I’ll befriend them any day if they can throw Edelgard and her minions out of Fodlan.”

_ Almyrans _ . No wonder they are oddly garbed and numerous. But it still doesn’t explain why Claude has so many helping him. Sure, he’s half-Almyran, that much I can tell by the color of his skin, though his eyes are certainly Fodlanian. How is that any special, though? 

Unless…

“Oh, Seiros,” I say. Of course, there’s really only one reason he could easily amass an Almyran army.

The damn Master Tactician is Almyran royalty.

“The King would have our heads if we let the little prince die in this sacrilegious country,” the swarthy man says. “So here we are.”

I swallow my questions whole. Claude is a man of many secrets, and I feel like I just ran into the biggest one of all.

Instead, I nod. “I’m here to, uh, help?” Though by the looks of things, it seems as though they don’t need my assistance. There’s enough archers and wyvern riders to circle the Goddess Tower twice over.

“Thanks, lass,” the swarthy man says. “This is the last push. We’ve got Claude and his little flower at the bridge on a last stand.”

“Hilda? Hilda’s here?!” I crane my neck over the battlements. Sure enough, even from afar, I recognize the bright head of pink hair and matching pink outfit on the bridge. If her entire figure isn’t eye-catching enough, then the Relic she’s holding is definitely the star of the show. She looks ready to swing it at people.

“Think the girl’s got it in her to hit anyone with that?” asks the Almyran.

I snort. “Hilda Valentine Goneril is  _ not  _ a delicate flower. She actually knows how to use that thing.”

And more than once, I thank Saint Seiros that this time, Hilda’s not trying to use her axe on any of us.

I watch her in action, awed at the way she swings the axe at attackers. Further behind her, Claude defends by using his own Relic to shoot at the enemies Hilda doesn’t hit. The two are their own army, and his use of position really puts him at an advantage.

Still, it’s a good thing Dimitri is attacking from the south side of the city. With Lord Arundel constantly closing off the city, there’s only so much Claude can do before he’s completely surrounded.

Not even the open sea would help him, unless he’s willing to sacrifice Hilda and Derdriu itself.

I watch the battle with anticipation. It is unlike the warfare I have been facing so far. It’s strange being so far and so safe. I almost agree with the grumbling archer, that I’d rather be facing the enemy than waiting for one to come too near.

I end up seeing my chance the minute I see a falcoknight flying towards us. I squint to see who it is, then remember the spyglass by my side. I pick it up but before I do, I see the Almyran mount his wyvern and fly off toward the direction of the pegasus knight. I look through my spyglass and gasp.

Ingrid meets the wyvern rider with a kiss of steel, and the two are caught in a fight, sword to axe. I pale. “Ingrid, no! He’s with us!”

But I’m too far for her to hear me, and the two continue to be locked in battle.

“Damn Almyran!” the archer says, aiming his bow at the fighting flyers. “He’s going to betray our position! What if the Empire trains their mages on them?!”

“Don’t be stupid, who are you  _ trying  _ to hit?” the general says. “We need someone else--”

I don’t wait. Spyglass still on-hand, I rush to my own wyvern and take up to the sky. I speed toward Ingrid.

The falcoknight is untouchable, and Ingrid easily outmaneuvers the Almyran. However, the man’s wyvern is as fierce as he is, and he follows her doggedly through the sky. It takes an extra moment for both of them to see my approach.

“Bernadetta!” Ingrid says, then flies to avoid the swing of the man’s axe. “Thank Seiros!”

When the man sees me, he stops, calms his wyvern so that he is mostly hovering. “Oh, lass, you know this golden-haired harpy?”

“She’s with us,” I snap, eyeing him angrily. “Which you would know if you waited for me to  _ tell  _ you.”

The Almyran shrugs. “Better safe than dead.”

“Ugh,” I respond. I can’t even be angry. Not really. I’d just said a similar thing when I landed on the battlements. “I need to get back to--”

“Watch out!” the Almyran says, rushing his wyvern toward me. I fly back in panic.

“Eeep!”

Magic erupts from below, and I can see that we have gotten too close to the field of battle.

Close enough that Lord Arundel could hit us if he wanted to.

He tried.

We swerve out of the way, and I do nothing but watch as Lord Arundel’s knights march forward, his magic paving the way around him.

“We need to get him,” Ingrid says, “Lord Arundel.”

“I don’t know if I--”

I see Dimitri heading toward his uncle, and I see that the battle is coming to a head.

He doesn’t get to his uncle, though, because Felix makes it there faster, and the swordsman uses his magic to disarm Lord Arundel.

I don’t hear the words coming from either of the men on the field, but I know it is heated, and I know that something Lord Arundel says spurs Felix and Dimitri to attacking him. The two come out victorious, and the knights around Edelgard’s uncle start to fall as more Kingdom soldiers come in for the kill.

The pincer attack that Claude has planned works, and Dimitri and Byleth the driving force of his scheme.

I take another breath. Two capitals liberated in two moons.

This war is almost over.

* * *

Claude doesn’t stay, but Hilda does.

“My brother is still the lord to Fodlan’s Throat, but where Claude goes, I can’t exactly follow. Not with my, uh, past history, if you know what I mean,” Hilda says.

She’s right, of course. Not many Almyrans would be happy to have the main reason why they haven’t been able to invade Fodlan in years. The Goneril family is that reason.

So Byleth takes the chance to recruit her. And she gives her a resounding yes.

Claude speaks to Dimitri and Byleth at length, and Hilda and the Lady Judith take some time to make plans with the Prince of Almyra. It’s strange to say, but he is, in fact, a prince.

And Dimitri is King.

Goddess, we’re going to have quite a future ahead of us.

Claude says goodbye, but not before he sees me, and he winks. “Bernadetta! You’ve grown pretty competent, I see. Are you as handy with a bow now more than ever?”

I blush. Trust Claude to be as silver-tongued as before. “I get by,” I mumble.

“That’s great to hear. And you have a wyvern now. Excellent taste,” he says.

“I...thank you?”

“Now, don’t let Fraldarius catch me telling you this,” he leans over and whispers in my ear, “but if you really want to play the field, you know there’s a man in Almyra who’s more than happy to entertain.”

“Claude!”

He laughs. “I’m just joking, of course. I know you’ve got your sights set on someone. As do I. Besides,” he nods toward the very man he was mentioning. “I would hate for him to dispatch me worse than what he did to Lord Arundel.”

Felix is glaring daggers at him, and I blush again.

Claude says his final goodbyes, and I see Byleth almost cry. Instead, she clutches Claude’s Relic in her grasp. Failnaught’s light dims in her hands, but it never really disappears. Wonders that the Crest of Flames can do, I suppose.

We watch as the whole of Almyra ascends into the sky and disappear into the horizon. Somehow, the departure doesn’t seem bittersweet or sad. It’s not like we won’t ever see them again.

I have a feeling once Claude’s got his whole king thing going, he’ll be back to his usual schemes from across the mountains.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The hints about Claude's background is very minimal in the BL route, so it was almost a blink and miss it moment when we find out how he's related to the Almyrans. I do love that it gets fleshed out in the GD route. Among other things.
> 
> Also, I totally forgot about Thales' disguise. Again, it was another one of those things that didn't really play as big a part in the BL route than in the others, so I kind of delved deeper into it (pun intended!).


	29. Blue Sea Moon, 1186 (Part II)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bernie is beset by bandits. And hijinks.
> 
> Or that A support conversation that totally escalates quickly.

**BLUE SEA MOON, 1186 (Part II)**

Preparations for taking over Fort Merceus is under way, though it takes some time before we are ready.

It shouldn’t really bother me so much, but truth be told, I’m worried. The whole ordeal of preparing to march south to the Empire takes us a little close to home. I do not forget that Fort Merceus is the seat of the Bergliez household. I definitely don’t forget that Caspar is a son of House Bergliez.

He will be there, sure as the rains during the Great Tree Moon. He will be ready to defend his home in the most ferocious way he can. He will die for House Bergliez, that much I know.

And I?

I will be part of the army that will stop him.

The thought keeps me distracted for the rest of the moon, and I know it keeps Ferdinand and Dorothea distracted, too. Petra is less affected; there’s always been ill blood between Brigid and Bergliez, and striking a blow to the seat of Bergliez would be considered justice for the death of Petra’s father.

All the same, I would prefer not to face Caspar in the attack.

“You are not focusing,” Petra tells me again. This is the third time I miss my target, and it is a week before the end of Blue Sea Moon. A week before our planned assault on the fort. I can already tell Petra is exasperated with me. “Are you forgetting how to shoot an arrow?”

I groan. “Cut me some slack, Petra, I’m having an off-day.”

“I am not understanding,” she says, unable to pick up on my mind’s wandering.

I sigh. “You’re right. I’m not focusing. I’m getting too distracted.” And before Petra could make a quip about distractions being a natural part of the battlefield, I shake my head and hand her my bow. “I need to clear my head. Think about things for a bit.”

“But, Bernadetta, the whole point of this practice is _ not _to be--to think,” she says.

“I get it,” I say. The conversation is getting me annoyed, and I am almost _ never _ annoyed with Petra. “But I need some time to myself. I’ve been spending too much time with other people, and for once I would like to wander areas _ alone _ for a while.”

Petra scrunches her face, as though she is wanting to ask another question, but instead she backs away. “I...see. Well, then. If you are ready for extra practice, you can find me at the old classroom.”

It’s not like Petra to get nostalgic, so I turn to her, eyebrow raised. She shrugs. “It is a place for thinking, too, and perhaps you are right. This war is too much action, not enough thought.”

“I...thanks, Petra,” I say, and we part ways.

The Kingdom and the remaining Church forces have begun their march south. It certainly helps that Varley is Bergliez’s neighbor, and that it is now mostly bereft of Imperial troops. Mother should have declared full ownership, but either she refuses to leave Enbarr to take her rightful place or she’s…

The thought of her being anything else besides _ alive _makes me shiver, and I choose to believe she would rather stay in the capital.

That means that I’m Varley’s owner, and the remaining Varley soldiers and household servants have acknowledged this. From there it became easy to send letters granting passage to Kingdom and Church troops.

I saddle a wyvern and fly toward Varley, toward the valley bordering Gronder Field. The fires have since died down at the Field, though it is the memory of it that keeps many of us avoiding the plains. It makes for a perfect getaway spot, knowing that I will not be followed.

I am utterly wrong about the followed part. Though in this case, I’m not even angry about it.

* * *

The fact of the matter is, I don’t think like a bandit.

It’s a failing on my end, I’m sure, but at the time, all I wanted to do was walk the battlefield and _ think _, for Goddess’ sake.

How was I supposed to know that a band of rogues would be visiting Gronder Field to steal from carcasses?

I get off my wyvern and start my walk, and for some time I am not paying attention to how long it’s taking me to get from one end of a field to another. When the trees become thicker and the brush becomes taller, I simply sidestep them and continue on. I find a dirt path and keep walking.

Perhaps it was a bad idea that I am so engrossed in my own thoughts about the coming battle. It is definitely a bad idea to keep going into an unknown forest--but I tell myself that I know the area like the back of my hand. Gronder Field is, after all, a land I am familiar with.

So I don’t hear the rustling behind me. And I don’t hear the footsteps until it is too late.

“Lookie here,” someone growls nearby as I walk--stupidly--into what I can now identify as a bandits’ den. “We’ve got ourselves a live little lady.”

I freeze, turn around. The man must be a little younger than Seteth, though not by much. His scraggly brown beard covers much of his mouth, and the axe he is brandishing looks menacing. Beside him stand a few other bandits, younger, more sprightly. Equally as menacing.

“I, uh, don’t mind me!” I say nervously, trying not to buckle down and plead for mercy. “Just, hah, just taking a stroll, and getting lost...I don’t have anything you’d want! Promise!”

“Da,” one of the younger rogues says, “Don’t she look familiar?”

“Yeah,” another of the younger one says, “She’s a soldier. For the army that come marching down the monastery. Think she flew here?”

“If she did,” the third one says, “then her steed’s somewhere close. Want us to go get it?”

“After,” the one they call “Da” says. He turns to me and his eyes twinkle. “This little lady looks like she needs some company. Don’t she, boys?”

I’ve heard of bandit attacks in nearby villages. I’ve heard of them, and I know that that’s why my father always insisted that I defend myself. He becomes disgusted when he hears about how bandits treat the women from villages, and often he strikes at them with no delays.

It could be considered one of his _ only _ saving graces. But I am not so easily fooled. The previous Lord Varley is disgusted not because women are degraded and subjected to humiliation, but because he thinks the villagers are _ his _ property, and none of them should be harmed. Not unless he _ himself _wishes them harm.

My father is a despicable man. But so are these bandits. And I’d be damned if I’m going to be caught up in their snares.

Luckily, I’m not stupid enough to leave the safety of Garreg Mach unarmed.

I grab the throwing dagger from my waistband and plunge it into one of the younger man’s shoulders.

Petra has nothing to worry about, I think as I run across the forest, trying to escape my would-be captors. My aim is not at fault, and I **can **focus when the time comes.

Now is not the time for thinking, however, and once the other bandits are distracted by the sudden attack, all I do is _ run. _

* * *

The way Felix tells it, I’m a force of nature.

The way I see it, I’m just trying to stay alive.

I make it out of the forest and up a hill, gasping for my breath. If I can only run to my wyvern, I’ll be safe.

But my wyvern is nowhere in sight, and once more I wonder how far I’d gotten on my walk.

Whatever the case, I keep running, though sooner or later, I know I’m going to tire soon. What I’m worried about is how much more I can run. How much more can I keep running?

They are gaining on me. I can hear by the sound of their strangled cries as they run after me. I can hear it in the scramble of footsteps. I know at some point that my breath will run out, and this time, I curse at myself for not bringing my bow and quiver of arrows along with me.

Stupid, useless, _ soon-to-be-dead Bernie _.

I stumble, catch myself before I fall. I wipe the mist from my eyes, breathe the air in too harshly. I can’t keep running anymore. So I do the only thing I can do.

I turn to face my attackers.

“You really ran us...around, little lady,” the bandit father says. By the way he breathes, I know it hasn’t been an easy chase for him, either. “Nowhere to run now, though.”

“Da, her wyvern, I can hear it,” one says. “We should skin that along with _ her _for what she’d done to poor Yoreg.”

“Aye, that we’ll do.” He motions for one of his sons, with a clear menace in his eyes. “Make her scream, boy.”

If I wasn’t already sweating, I’d be sweating now. Years of being strapped to my father’s chair in that horrible room come back, and I am brought back into the worst years of my life in Varley. The world around me disappears, and all I can think about is kicking and screaming and fighting away from the restraint of the rope, of the shackles.

I don’t even think. I keep moving.

“Whaaaa---” the man approaching me cries, “My sword!”

There is a clank of steel as I disarm the man and move forward. I don’t care that I am out of breath and in the throes of collapsing. I just see my father now, an oppressive man in the early days of my imprisonment in Varley.

_ “I’ll return when you’ve become a good, submissive, little girl.” _

To Ailell with that. Father can rot in his Enbarr prison for all I care.

“You little b--augh!”

A flash of steel, and the man goes down. The sudden attack on one of the bandits stops my act of desperation, and I look on in confusion.

Clearly, the lead bandit is just as flummoxed as I am, because he doesn’t see the next attack coming for him. Not until it is too late.

Like the other bandits around me, the father bandit collapses, dead, and I crouch down, ready for this attacker to strike me dead, too. I can’t help it this time, I let out a sob, and perhaps a plea for this man to make my death swift and painless.

I hear the sword returning to its sheath, and a grumpy voice above me. “What did you expect, running ahead? I can’t leave you alone _ for a second _…”

I hiccup, prevent another sob from coming out. I look up, and I see the last person I’d expect to see on Gronder Field. And boy, am I _ glad _to see him.

“F...Felix? Is that really you?”

He reaches out a hand and pulls me up, and I can’t help myself. I am so relived that I am not going to die that I actually _ throw _myself into his arms. I start sobbing into his shirt. He seems taken aback enough that he just stands there, and I feel his arms encircle me, his hand stroking my hair.

He continues to hold me until after my sobs die down, and I can look up at him again. “I...I was sure I was finished. You...you saved my life. Thank you so much. I can’t even begin to figure out how to--”

“Bernadetta,” he says carefully, his gloved finger now tilting my chin up. I swallow my words, and once again there is a momentary flush, and it’s definitely not because I’m about to start panicking. “For once, shut your mouth and calm down. _ I _should be thanking you.”

“Um…” _ What? _ I must have voiced my question out loud because he snorts and lets go. He motions to the dead bandits around me.

“When you were surrounded, I got to see you use your technique again.” His amber eyes glitter with comprehension, and understanding and relish that I admit kind of makes my heart go _ thump _. “I get it now.”

He gets closer to me again, takes my arms. I don’t stop him as he moves them around, showing me how I managed to disarm the first soldier. “For just a _ moment _, you flail your limbs like this. You become a wild creature. It’s…”

“Ridiculous,” I murmur, but he doesn’t seem to find that something to laugh about. Instead, he continues to grip my arms--not ungently. “I probably _ look _like a wild creature, too.”

“On the contrary,” he says, finally letting go of my arms. He looks at me with that strange look in his eyes. A mixture of thoughtfulness and interest. “That was the most amazing thing I’ve seen. Beautiful in its execution. If I could learn to do that, I’d be _ unstoppable _.”

I blink. The whole exchange is a little confusing, and it occurs to me that he really _ is _ actually being serious about this. _ My _ flailing helped _ him _ as a warrior. What are the chances of that?

“Uh, in that case, I’m...happy to help?”

“Of course,” he amends, a grin on his face. “I would be even more impressed if you hadn’t been screaming the whole time.”

“Hey! Come on! I was running for my _ life _. Don’t make fun of me for--” I notice the grin and the gentle stare he is giving me, and that stops my train of thought. I also notice that he’s gotten closer again, and that we are inches away.

And if he hadn’t been close enough to kiss, I wouldn’t have noticed it. The smile spread out on his face.

“...Why are you staring at me?” he asks.

“You’re…” I can’t help it, I am beaming now, too. “You’re actually smiling! Not like a sarcastic smirk either--a big, goofy grin from ear to ear.”

He turns red, and he reverts that smile into his usual scowl. It doesn’t matter, though, because now I’ve _ seen it _ . The ever-frowning, ever-prickly swordsman and future Lord of Fraldarius can actually _ smile _.

“You’re just a big old _ nut _, aren’t you, Felix? Once you get through the shell, there’s all sorts of good stuff inside.”

“Wha--you don’t _ know _me!”

I giggle. Nothing can break me off my good mood now. “Aww, there’s that shell again.”

He grabs hold of my shoulders, and on any normal moment, I’d probably have tried to escape, but I’m too busy laughing. “Quit making fun of me!”

His words aren’t forceful at all, and just by the teasing nature of his tone, I know he’s not really taking offense by it. I laugh again, but the rest of my laughter is quickly swallowed up when he takes that smiling mouth of his and presses it to mine.

Felix Hugo Fraldarius is kissing me again, and this time, the kiss is not short and quick. It lingers like the lasting scent of freshly cut jasmine in my bedroom. Like the pleasant flavor of cinnamon on top of a sugar cookie.

And I’m melting into him. This time, I keep myself from buckling down for a completely different reason entirely.

He pulls away only for a brief instant, looks at me, eyes a question. I don’t know what comes over me, because instead of waiting for him to find an answer in my expression, I grab him by the front of his overcoat and pull him down again.

Felix smells of spice and steel and fur. He smells of the winter snows in the north and the heady musk of battle. He feels like the home I wished I had but I never got. Not until now.

And I know, deep down, that he really is a big old nut, and now that his shell is cracked, I’m raking in all the good stuff beneath.

But I don’t think about that now. I don’t voice it out in front of him. I can’t. Not with him kissing me until we are both short of breath. Until he resurfaces for a moment, only to return to my mouth, coaxing me, teasing me, asking for more, more, more.

And I comply, because try as I might, I can’t have enough of him, either.

I’ll give him that much. Felix _ definitely _ knows how to shut me up effectively.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On a separate note, I wonder how this last scene would have played out if it was in Felix's POV...food for thought.
> 
> Though at this rate, we all know Felix is totally a cinnamon roll. A very deadly, nutty, but sickly sweet cinnamon roll.
> 
> Yum.


	30. Verdant Moon, 1186 (Part I)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the once-invincible fortress becomes, well...vincible.
> 
> Or that time Bernie fights at Merceus and regrets everything about this damn war.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know that feeling where you come back to a story you'd written months ago and realize that you really want to finish it but just didn't have time?
> 
> Yeah, so this story is definitely on its last legs, you guys. Yet I've still got so much to write.

**LETTER TO THE ARCHBISHOP**

_ Queen Byleth Eisner Blaiddyd _

_ Garreg Mach Monastery, Unified Fodlan _

_ Guardian Moon _

_ Byleth, _

_ I hope this letter finds you well. No, really, after the news I have been getting of what seems to be happening south of Ordelia, well...frankly I don’t even know whether to address you at the monastery or if you’re in Fhirdiad. _

_ Or perhaps you did decide to listen to Fraldarius’ pleas south. Please say you didn’t. Felix is well-meaning and occasionally he says something wise, but he’s Dimitri’s warmongering right hand for a reason. You’re not trying to wage a new war, are you, Byleth? _

_ Fey has sent me her letters about these Agarthans. The funny thing is, I’m hardly surprised about their existence. Do you remember when we were still in Garreg Mach? You often found me in the library, sneaking into the locked tomes and taking peeks at Solon’s collection. Not that that did much in the way of furthering my research. Turns out the hidden books and lost histories were better found in second-hand bookshops or through traveling merchants hawking their wares. _

_ (I’m not waxing nostalgic for the sake of reminiscing, by the way, there is a point to this recollection.) _

_ The point is, in Rhea’s and Seteth’s infinite wisdom, much of Fodlan’s ancient history was swept under a very old and dusty rug, so to speak. Crests, the saints, the Goddess...I’m not saying they were fabrications or that the entire country’s history is made up of lies perpetrated by the winners, but Agartha? Nabatea? These places existed. Their people _ **existed** _ . As did Ailell until the so-called “goddess” rained fire down upon the place. _

_ (Did it ever bother you that people believe the all-benevolent, merciful, _ ** _kind _ ** _ goddess that you worship would be angry enough to send an entire land burning for centuries? But perhaps there’s a different history there as well…) _

_ I’m fairly certain the Agarthans weren’t happy with whatever it is the Goddess and her children did back in the day. I’m fairly certain the wars Felix spoke of dealt with Saint Seiros and Nemesis, and the influence of the Agarthans. There is history there, and one of these days, I would love to just pick Seteth’s brain regarding this history. Maybe this time he won’t be lying to me. _

_ Your job as the head of the Fodlanian church is difficult enough, so I’m not going to bore you with these details. What I want you to be is _ **careful** _ . I know Dimitri probably said the same thing, but he and I think differently. I think there will always be an opportunity to strike carefully at the enemy. He, on the other hand, has no problem going head-on toward a conflict. Reckless is the Tempest King, and I swear, you actually _ **let him** _ be that way. No judgments, just unsolicited observations, I promise you. _

_ In any case, if you did follow your husband to Hyrm, I’ve asked Hilda south to meet with your camp. She’s agreed to lend you the use of Freikugel, and I’ve re-sent Failnaught to her. You insist that I keep the Relic, but honestly, I find no dignity in using it to shoot wild hunt. Better it be used to fight those who seek to destroy your very existence. Because if nothing else, there’s an irony to that. _

_ If I don’t hear from you in a moon’s time, I shall have to fly down to Hyrm to make sure my damn weapon is being put to good use. And to make sure you, Dimitri, and my daughter-in-law haven’t died in the process. _

_ From your king across the mountain, _

_ Claude _

* * *

**VERDANT MOON, 1186**

There is no time to think of anything after what occurred at Fort Merceus. There is no time to sit in my room to contemplate what happened at Gronder Field.

“Fort Merceus is old and often it is called impregnable,” Seteth drones on, advising Dimitri and Byleth in the war room. “It is one of the Empire’s most guarded locations, and House Bergliez will make their presence known.”

“What about Aegir?” Dimitri asks, pointing to a location on the map, just east of Merceus. He looks up at Ferdinand. “Will we have some way of mounting your army?”

Ferdinand nods. There is a determination in Ferdinand’s countenance, one that has grown ever more bold after the victory at Arianrhod. “After the Alliance’s--well, Claude’s--display of unification, it has become easier to regain the lands of Aegir and spring them free from the Empire’s clutches. My father’s people have been flocking back east to prepare for our momentous attack on the capital.”

“I’m starting to think we can win this,” Annette says, Mercedes nodding with her. “We’ve really come a long way.”

“And with Lady Rhea at the capital, the time is now to march,” Seteth says. Behind him, Catherine and Cyril nod vigorously.

To be honest, I’m still a little unsure as to Lady Rhea’s well-being. When the leader of the Church of Seiros disappears for five years, it makes you wonder why she isn’t dead yet. And if Edelgard has her...I’m wondering why the Emperor hasn’t put her nemesis to death already.

Could it be that in some way, Edelgard is still sane enough to stay her hand?

No, I think to myself. That is me projecting my own hopes to Edelgard’s character. She has changed in the last five years, and the person I knew once has probably disappeared by now. 

What I do know is that the Empire of Adrestia knows how to play the long game, and that long game involves a more public viewing of Lady Rhea’s demise.

I can only hope Byleth’s presence has put a large bolt in Edelgard’s plans.

“Fort Merceus,” Ashe says, shifting with unease. “I heard that it rivals Arianrhod. Will we be facing similar resistance there?”

“Count on it,” Sylvain says, “Perhaps even more so. According to our spies, a large-scale military force has entered the stronghold.”

“Can we try to avoid it?” Byleth asks. Very few people will say this about our professor, but as I watch her, I can see she is still hesitant about continuing the fight. The fight at Arianrhod must have shaken her somehow, though I can’t fathom what it is that bothered her so.

Dimitri shakes his head. “If we try to avoid it, those troops will follow us and attack from the rear. We’ll take the situation head-on. Enbarr will not be far from our reach after that.”

“And if we take this fort,” Sylvain suggests, “then our blades will be at the emperor’s throat in no time.”

Felix--who remains situated in a corner, mostly listening and watching--pushes himself off the wall to stand by Dimitri’s right. “This is the last fort between Faerghus and Adrestia. The emperor will do everything she can to strengthen Merceus’ defenses.”

“Which means the general Edelgard has put at the head will be someone strong,” Catherine quips. “Formidable.”

“Someone with enough clout that we might have to be more than prepared,” Ingrid says. She clenches her fist. “I have no doubt that we will be ready.”

The thought of Caspar being at the head, the entire House Bergliez by his side, makes me shrink beside myself with fear.

“I did receive a report on that subject,” Dimitri says. “The one commanding the troops at Fort Merceus is someone we have indeed crossed blades with many times.”

I look at Ferdinand, who pales. I think of Hubert, who we’ve encountered several times already.

“It is the Death Knight who awaits us there.”

Murmurs between us as the news filters through. Ferdinand turns away for a moment, his slight flush of relief hidden away save for those who actually looked for his reaction. Everyone else is distracted by Mercedes’ slight gasp.

We turn to her, but she covers her mouth instead and apologizes for the reaction. “I...that is surprising,” she says. “Will we...will we be okay?”

“More so,” Felix grins, “Fort Merceus will become the Death Knight’s grave. Mine is the last face he will see.”

From the look of Mercedes, I’m not too sure if Felix’s words were of comfort to her or not.

* * *

“I didn’t mean to be so overwhelmed by all that information,” Mercedes tells me after the war council is dismissed. “I just...the Death Knight is…”

This is one of the first times Mercedes is discussing the Death Knight at all with me, so I am surprised by how much it bothers her. We head back towards our dormitory in silence, but before I get back to my room, I cannot help but turn to her. “I’ve got some tea and snacks from the dining hall, if you’d like some. We can talk a bit in my room. You seem really upset, Mercie.”

She stops, eyes widening. “Do I? Is it really that obvious?”

“That or I’m really getting the knack of observing everyone so well,” I say lightly. “Seriously, though, if you need an ear…”

“I’d love some tea,” she says, “but…”

“Okay, well--”

“No!” Mercedes grabs my hand before I close the door on her. “I mean--that is, I don’t want to impose on your snack stash. I baked some sweet rolls the other day, so if you’d like, I’ll stop by my room and grab some for your tea.”

The thought of Mercedes’ baked goods is already making my mouth water, and I nod swiftly. “That...is an _ excellent _idea.”

We eventually settle ourselves on my desk, two cups and a pot of Albinean Berry Blend steeping between us. I’m an awkward talker, but Mercedes is too wound up that she ends up doing most of the talking.

“I have a brother, you know,” she says quietly after taking a few sips of tea. “Emile. Half-brother.”

I raise an eyebrow. “I didn’t know that.”

“He’s...not someone I’ve talked about much, but I...miss him.” She looks down at her hands, which are clutching at her skirts. “And now I find that I can’t make myself watch him die.”

“Is Emile in danger?” I ask.

“Emile calls himself by a different name now.” It is almost difficult to hear her next words, and if I wasn’t sitting right next to her, I probably wouldn’t have heard it at all. “He’s Jeritza now. Jeritza von Hyrm.”

I almost choke on the sweet roll. “The _ Death Knight _?!”

I would not have believed it, but when Mercedes looks up, she looks about ready to start crying, and I believe her then. The healer is made of stronger stuff, and it is rare to see her cry. But in this instance...I’d rather not be the one to witness her tears.

“I, uh…”

“It’s okay,” Mercedes says, sniffing once. The waterworks don’t come, and I am grateful for it. I barely know what to do with someone crying. I must have been hanging out with Felix for too long. “I’ve long since accepted the fact that my Emile is no longer around. That he’s the Death Knight and unredeemable. But I can’t help it. I love him still.”

“We can’t help who we love,” I say, and I believe it. I think of a cantankerous swordsman, and cannot help but blush.

Mercedes smiles sadly. “True enough. But all the same, I worry for this battle.”

“And I’m sorry, Bernie,” she says softly again, “but I hope Felix is not the one to kill him so wantonly.”

* * *

Felix and Mercedes don’t have much of a say in the matter. Byleth sends Felix out for Caspar. 

Dimitri is relentless in the force of his attacks. Where Claude would have found some way to sneak into the fortress, Dimitri the Tempest King forces his way to the front gates, Byleth in tow. The two are unstoppable, and resistance at the gates was at a minimal at this point.

Subtlety, thy name is not Dimitri.

The assault does, however, put us on a vulnerable front. The Death Knight is not without his own contingent, and House Bergliez shows itself in full force.

I am put on Felix’s detail, and as much as I want to leave my wyvern to wish him luck, I stay by my steed’s side. I refuse to believe this is our final fight. Not when we are so close to Dimitri’s goal.

Not that it matters, _ he _comes to me anyway.

“You are well rested.” He observes me with those amber eyes of his, and I gulp down a response. Instead, I nod. “Good. This will be a hard battle, and I want no weaknesses on our ranks.”

“Felix, we’re ready,” I say warily. I wonder what it is he wants to talk about, because he’s mincing his words. “I’m ready.”

“I want no weaknesses,” he repeats, “No one is to die. Save the enemy.”

“I understand.” I turn back to my mount. Now is not the time to over-analyze, Bernie, perhaps he’s just repeating what he’s said to everyone else.

But he stops me, and the Felix I see is the one I saw when he saved me from the bandits. He reaches for my fingers, moves his other hand to my shoulder. “Bernadetta. I mean it. Caspar von Bergliez is your friend. I know this. Do not get distracted.”

I look at him, and the words sink in. I blush. He knows. He knows that this is what I am dreading. Fighting Caspar. Facing him. Facing Lindhardt. Where one is, the other is sure to follow, and they will take their final stand at Merceus. Already I see the battlements showing their banners from afar, and already I’m thinking of the ways that they will exploit my hesitation.

“And truth be told,” he continues, “if you die, I will be absolutely _ furious _.”

My eyes widen. I try not to stammer, but this whole thing between us, this tentativeness, this...this _ thing _ \--relationship? It is definitely _ not _what I expect.

Certainly not from Felix Hugo Fraldarius.

“I could say the same for you,” I finally murmur.

“That’s a non-answer, Bernadetta von Varley, and you know it.”

“I...I can’t promise you that I won’t survive, Felix.” I finally say. The truth hits me the same time as Felix, and he tightens his grip on my shoulder. I half-hope he kisses me to distraction again, but instead he lets go, and the heat in the air returns to a tepid warmth.

When it looks like he’s done with the conversation, I sigh. “What I can promise is that...given the choice, I…I’d choose you over them.”

There. Compromise. I find myself mounting my wyvern within moments. I only glance at the stiff figure of the Fraldarius heir, and by the look on his face, he is just as shocked as I am at my words. He gives me a terse nod, and turns away, walking back to the rest of the troops.

It is Ingrid who sees the exchange between us. Ingrid, whose countenance is often serious and motherly, who is now smiling at me. “You and Felix. Who’d have thought?”

“Don’t,” I tell her. “Just...please?”

She shakes her head. “I won’t say anything else about it after this, but...I’m happy for you and him, Bernadetta. Really, I am.”

We fly to the battlefield, and all thoughts of romance fly out with me. It is a battle that needs to be won, and even with Dimitri’s vanguard, there are still soldiers that come to the Death Knight’s aid.

I see Mercedes below, and my heart goes out to her. But then I see the tell-tale signs of Lindhard’s magic, and I know things are going to get worse before they are better. I spy the healer-turned-war-mage as he throws another bolt of lightning towards Hilda, and I stop his next attack with an aimed arrow at his sleeve.

I curse slightly at myself. I purposefully miss. This is exactly what Petra is afraid I would do.

_ “Do not be thinking that Linhardt and Caspar will care. This is war, Bernie. They are not caring.” _

And she’s right.

“Hello again, Bernie,” Linhardt says. His voice and countenance remain calm, and it is as though we are just two people having a conversation. Two people who are not about to kill each other within the next few seconds. “I’d rather not fight you, you know.”

“Me neither,” I tell him, though between the two of us, I mean it more. I aim my arrow at his torso, ready to shoot. His fingers start to glow, and I know he is readying himself against me. His other hand is also glowing, and I worry that he will be able to harm and defend himself at the same time.

Did war mages have that much skill, I wonder.

“But I suppose avoiding it is fruitless.”

I do not have the time to reply. He strikes first, shooting a ball of flame at me.

I feel the surge of heat, but I let my arrow fly anyway. My wyvern does the rest of the work.

Smoke climbs into my lungs as I feel the heat of the flame graze my hair. My skin tingles from the burning pain on my shoulder, and it does not register that I am--mostly--unharmed.

What I do see, as the smoke clears, as I stop coughing, is the blood on the ground. The pool of blood flowing from a dying war-mage, his breath leaving him fast. He looks up at me, unsurprised, even smiling a little.

I bite my lip to prevent from crying. To prevent myself from collapsing and swooping down and making my way to apologize to him.

Linhardt is dying because of me.

_Linhardt._

He opens his mouth, grasps for air, murmurs something towards me. I do not catch it. I do not catch anything Linhardt says before he closes his eyes.

But I know his sentiment.

This battle. This whole war. It has been pointless for many of us. And yet we fight on anyway, because that is all we can do now.

There’s no going back.

I make my way to Felix.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the funny thing is I got super-sick for the last half of January and into the beginning of February, traveled a bit afterwards, and then returned to a world gone mad, essentially. I haven't played much of FE3H in a while, so the last thing I remember is the Golden Deer Route, which is probably why Claude's letter is very self-reflective and heavily detailed. #sorrynotsorry
> 
> In any case, it's getting harder to say goodbye to some of the characters. Linhardt and Caspar I actually very much liked in the game, so...


	31. Verdant Moon, 1186 (Part II)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Merceus falls and the aftermaths of coping begins.
> 
> Or that last support convo between Bernie and Felix.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's only one thing to be said about having to work from home...it's that I have time to actually write fanfic on top of things.
> 
> Still, I hope everyone is staying safe at these trying times!

**VERDANT MOON, 1186 (Part II)**

There is a saying that the Goddess returns in the Blue Sea Moon, when the Blue Sea Star makes its appearance in the night. But it is in the Verdant Moon that we actually see her presence in the colors she brings after the onslaught of rain.

There is no presence in this war. No rain falls upon Merceus on that final day of battle. No sign of the Goddess in her rainbow lights. Nature’s wildness has no place in a stronghold of stone. Only steel and magic and death.

As expected, where Caspar is, Linhardt is not far off. It is the same the other way around. I find Caspar nearby, the length and breadth of him covered in armor befitting his station as a von Bergliez. He is resplendent, and all that innocence and anger that used to burn in him five years ago is subdued. Now all that’s left is a self-control that scares me.

I do not see Felix in sight. I do not look for him then, because facing Caspar is the person with the one grudge against his family.

The pegasus’s wings drum a steady beat as Petra hovers just above the von Bergliez warrior, and the two are staring at each other. They are unaware of their surroundings, and even my flying towards Petra’s side does not break their intent gazes.

“Petra,” I begin, but she cuts me off with a shake of her head. She does not want me to interrupt. She pulls the sword from her sheathe, points it toward Caspar.

“It will be ending here,” she says quietly, though we both hear her even amidst the flapping of wings. “I will defeat you!”

Caspar’s thin smile does not reach his eyes, and he nods. “Petra! I always knew my family would get in the way of our friendship. But tell me, did you have to kill a lot of our friends to get here? How much of _ that _justifies all this?”

Petra falters, but I see her countenance harden, and I know nothing Caspar will say is going to deter her hand. Something bothers me about this exchange, and I look closely at Caspar, who hasn’t moved from his spot. He holds a short axe on one hand, his other a round shield, and it will take more than one sword swipe to defeat him. He is at a disadvantage, on the ground where Petra is in flight. His armor slows him down where Petra’s leathers is a part of her speed.

And yet…

It occurs to me that Petra might not be at an advantage. That his words strike her more than any of his axe blows will. Petra is wildness personified; she is the spirit of the hunt.

Caspar knows this, and he has a skill that can break through Petra’s emotional control.

He baits her.

“Petra, don’t!”

She lunges after him, and at the last second, he drops to the ground, rolls away, and uses the momentum to get back up. Even armored as he is, Caspar employs all the old brawling tricks he learned at Garreg Mach, and he uses it all on Petra.

I am too engrossed in the tussle to yell out warning cries, let alone help. I am frozen on my wyvern, and all I can think is I’m going to lose all my friends from the bygone days.

If only Ferdinand and Dorothea can see this now...I thank the Goddess at least they were made to stay behind.

“PETRA!” I shriek when she is disarmed and thrown off her pegasus. I watch with horror as my friend rolls to the ground and is almost too late to thwart Caspar’s swinging axe. Limber as she is, Petra can still be easily overpowered by a quickly-moving Caspar.

I aim my bow toward the two, hoping that Caspar will approach close enough for me to strike him. The two struggle, and I cannot make a clear shot, not without possibly harming Petra as well. I will have to descend.

“You are faltering,” Petra hisses, gritting her teeth. She clutches at her side and sidesteps another lunge. “You will be making mistakes, and then I shall strike.”

“Same goes for you, princess,” Caspar grins. “The strain of the battle is getting to you, too. I can practically _ predict _your movements, and that’s sloppy even for you!”

They circle each other. Petra is now in her element, and I can see her bounce from leg to leg, the assassin training in her returning. She is ready for the attack.

But Caspar also moves at the same speed, and I have the suspicion that he has trained solely for the chance at beating Petra once and for all. He drops the cumbersome pieces that slow him down--the shield goes first, his detachable pauldrons next. The axe is also abandoned, and he fixes her with a stare as he quickly straps on steel gauntlets.

None of this is going to end well, I think, and it takes me a few seconds to register that both of them may die.

I never get the chance to see either way.

A horn in the distance blows, and I turn my head that way. Somehow, I feel Caspar and Petra’s heads turn as well. We are all of us distracted by the constant blowing horn.

Caspar curses. “Damn you, Jeritza!” He springs at Petra before she can turn around, and he tackles her to the ground.

I am too slow. I run to Petra even as she struggles. I run to her, all the while watching as Caspar’s raised fist goes down, and I know it’s over.

Petra…

“STAND DOWN!” Ingrid’s voice bellows from above. I look up. “IT’S OVER, CASPAR. STAND DOWN.”

Caspar’s hand freezes just inches above Petra’s throat. The princess of Brigid lies there, too fatigued to struggle. Caspar glares at Ingrid. “It’s not over until I _ die _.”

“The Death Knight is dead,” Ingrid says. There is an unusual tone to her voice, but I cannot say why I detect this. Mostly I am relieved that Petra--and Caspar--are still alive. “Your troops have surrendered. Fort Merceus is Faerghus territory now.”

Caspar curses again, though this time, he relents his grip on Petra and eases off her. He sluggishly stands, wiping the grime off his pants and looks warily at Ingrid, who is the only one of us still sitting astride her flying steed. “So, what now? Am I to be a prisoner of war, then?”

Ingrid looks uncertainly at me, then at Petra. We both nod, though I see that Petra is a bit more reluctant about leaving Caspar alive than I am. Mostly, I’m relieved that the two didn’t end up killing each other, but then again...Bernie lives in a fantasy world. If I can get away with having no casualties in war, then I’d go that route.

My mind goes back instantly to Linhardt, and I know that fantasy is just a fantasy. If only we’d heard the horn sooner...if only the Death Knight had gotten his demise before…

No, Bernie, don’t be stupid. That kind of thinking will only drive you insane.

The two women secure Caspar, and we lock eyes once before he is taken away. I wonder if he already knows what I did. That he already knows Lindhardt is dead, his lifeless body somewhere nearby, a pool of blood encasing him like some magical cocoon. My eyes start to fill with tears, and I’m the one who looks away first.

If Caspar didn’t know then...he does now.

No words can describe the anguish in his face after that. Another image ingrained in my head for future nightmares to come.

* * *

“Will you save me if I’m in trouble?” Byleth asks Dimitri coyly, their conversation a whisper in a darkened corner of the monastery’s library.

Dimitri’s reply is low, and supposedly set for Byleth’s ears only. He almost growls it, and I almost give away my position, uncomfortable as it is. “I have not come this far just to lose you here. You are my heart.”

I should not be listening to this. I should not be here in the first place.

It has been a week since the battle at Fort Merceus, and already many of our troops are getting ready for our march to Enbarr. When I find myself as part of the council that sentences Caspar to a banishment west--to Albinea of all places--it becomes a breaking point.

“Bernie, did you hear about--” Dorothea starts one evening, trying to get my attention.

But I stand then, and I am unable to breathe. The horrors I saw at Merceus--Linhardt’s prone and dying form, Caspar’s unmerciless lunge toward Petra--come back to haunt me during the daytime. My throat closes up, and I squeak. Beside me, Dorothea looks alarmingly at me, but I shake my head, wave to her that I will be fine.

Excuses are made, and I vaguely recall Ferdinand blocking Dorothea’s path so she does not follow. I catch Ferdinand’s knowing glance before I turn away, grateful for his understanding.

I keep running until I get to the second floor of the monastery. I move past the infirmary, and I stop when I see Mercedes there alone, stooped down and shaking with tears. She looks up when she hears me approach.

“Please, Bernie,” she sniffs. “Please. Not today. N...not...I want to…”

I nod my head and say nothing. I walk away, taking care to close the door behind me. Sometimes, people just need to be alone to grieve. Mercedes lost much at Merceus when the Death Knight died. I cannot pretend to feel her pain...but I understand it completely.

So instead, I continue to the library. When I walk in, I find that it is empty. Of course it is. Nobody is in the mood for reading, not even Annette and Lysithea--both of them are almost **always **in the library when there is free time to be had. Now, it is an empty room, and I find solace in the silence.

I don’t know what comes over me, but I find the stairs and begin scaling up to the second floor. To avoid socializing with folk who visit the library, I go to the highest point of the library and sequester myself in a corner to read. The best place is directly above the shelves of history, where the chandelier conveniently blocks the view of those below. While I can see everything that happens beneath me, people have more difficulty looking up. It works fine when you’re paranoid like I am.

Yet that didn’t seem to stop Byleth and Dimitri from trying to invade my space. Unwittingly on their parts.

To be fair, they shouldn’t be involving the library of all places as part of their romantic trysts. My poor failing nerves are already shot, and now _ this _happens.

Someone clears their throat, and the two stop to look.

Felix stands by the library doorway, and perched where I am--in the rafters above one of the bookshelves, just below the whispering couple--I can tell that he sees me. “Byleth, Dimitri. I believe Seteth is looking for the two of you. Something about final preparations.”

“Ah! Felix!” Byleth--I swear her voice rises an octave--says before standing, pulling Dimitri up as well. “S...Seteth. Yes. In his office?”

“War chamber,” Felix says evenly, not giving my position away.

“At this hour?” Dimitri says sternly. He is more wary of Felix’s words, though why is beyond me. There is one other person Dimitri trusts implicitly other than Byleth, and it’s the swordsman in front of him. “Couldn’t he wait until the morrow?”

Felix shrugs. “He could have. For all I know, he’s gone back to bed. The request came from him over an hour ago.”

“Felix!” Dimitri sighs, exasperated.

There is the beginnings of an upturned smile, and even in the dim lighting, I can tell that Felix is inwardly laughing. He scoffs. “I suggest checking the war chamber for yourself. At most, Seteth is there waiting to talk. At the least...there’s a _ lock on the door _ and the two of you can return to your...sickenly amorous interaction.” This time he tilts his head toward me and I _ know _ he means for me to hear _ that _part. “For Fodlan’s sake, Boar, don’t defile the library. What would the Archbishop say?”

“Not much,” Dimitri murmurs, and my ears burn at his good-humored comment. “She’d be too preoccupied.”

I do not see Byleth’s face, but I know by the way she stammers and drags Dimitri out of there that she is embarrassed beyond reason. I almost laugh outright, but I cover my mouth just in time.

The two disappear down the hall, and Felix approaches the shelf below me. “You’re welcome.”

I make my way down to the first level, half-amused, half-annoyed. “You could’ve announced your presence another way.”

“And miss all the fun I could get teasing those two mongrels? I think not.” Felix sits on the chair previously emptied by Dimitri. While he pats the chair beside him, I decide to sit on the table. I let my legs swing once, twice, then pull them in and face him. “I ran into von Aegir some moments ago. Said you were troubled.”

“How’d you find me anyway?”

He shrugs. “Mercedes.”

My eyes widen. “She let you in?” Of all the people to give Mercedes comfort...

Felix raises an eyebrow. “You forget, I know what it is like to have lost a brother.”

“Oh, a...ah, right. Sorry,” I blush. He knows what it’s like to have lost a father as well. I do not bring it up, but there is a brief expression on his face that says it all. It immediately disappears, replaced by the usual stare he gives me when he’s in between boredom and interest.

He leans forward, shoulder beside my hip. Felix makes no contact, but I still redden at his proximity. “You’re not here for a book, are you?”

I shake my head. “It’s one of my thinking places. Petra tells me I have too many, but I like having options.”

“Any good thoughts?”

“Huh?”

“You said this is a thinking place,” he says. He looks up at me, face inscrutable. “With the amount of time you’ve spent in here by now, did you come up with any good thoughts?”

For some reason, the question irritates me. I nudge his shoulder with my thigh and roll my eyes. “Not _ all _thoughts are going to be good, and you know it, Fraldarius.”

There it is again, a slight chuckle that turns into a scoff. I frown at him. “What _ are _you doing?”

“I could say the same for you. Didn’t you used to be shy?”

He prods a finger at my thigh, and I slap his hand away in protest. “Believe it or not, I’m shy as ever. Or do you not notice how I liked my time here in the library? When I was _ alone _, that is.”

That doesn’t seem to deter him, because he catches my hand and pins it down on the table with his. “Then why do you bother holding a conversation with me?”

The question takes me off guard, and I almost rise from the table, if not for my pinned hand. Which is growing warmer by the minute. As is my face. Goddess, I’m in the middle of a combustion, I think.

“That’s...um, well...you know how ghosts are only scary because you can’t see or talk to them?”

Felix stops absentmindedly running his fingers over my palm. “You’re saying I’m a ghost.”

That last statement _ really _sends me standing, and that almost topples him backward with his chair. I yelp, and he steadies himself before grabbing both sides of my hips. He eases me back on the table. This time, though, I’m sitting in front of him, and it’s much harder to breathe.

Is it me, or is the library warmer than Ailell?

“It was...uh, it was _ just _a metaphor!” I finally croak.

He smiles, and _ that _really takes the cake. “Heh. There you are, foolish as ever.”

“Y...you’re smiling again!”

Which causes him to retract somewhat. Just somewhat. “What?”

“I...I like seeing you smile,” I admit, then cover my mouth. I did not mean for that to come out. He already knows too much of how I feel, and a lot of him is still closed to me. This is another stupid Bernie mistake.

Felix Hugo Fraldarius leans forward, presses his cheek to mine. His breath warm in my ear. “I’m disappointed. Such a trivial reason. A normal person would not speak to me without a hint of fear. You, on the other hand, would rather that I..._ smile _ . You’ve really... _ grown up _.”

The way he says the last words makes me think of Gronder Field and his searing kisses, and I hold onto his upper arms to keep me from melting into a puddle. “Um...yeah. I...I guess.” His breath is distracting, and I can feel his lips starting a slow journey toward my neck. “W...wait!”

He slowly, reluctantly, pulls away, the frown back on his face. I look at up at him, glad for the respite. “Why are you being nice? Did something terrible happen? Did you have a falling-out with an old friend or something?”

I’m babbling, and Felix knows it. “...”

“This...Felix, this is the _ library _,” I finally respond. “What would the Archbishop say?!”

Felix blinks rapidly at me, and to my surprise, he begins to laugh. It is infectious, because I begin to giggle, too, and I realize why when he quickly responds with Dimitri’s words.

“Not much. She’d be too preoccupied.”

Which sends us back to laughing.

It is some minutes later where he pulls me off the table towards him, gives me a kiss on my forehead, and drags me to one of the bookshelves.

“Come on. You mentioned a book I should read a while back.”

I don’t know if this is what Felix had in mind when he found me in the library, but I’m glad for his company, and I thank Ferdinand for sending the Fraldarius lord my way.

“In that case, if you wouldn’t mind…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is that weird in-between time where the final fortress falls and there is quite literally one obstacle left before endgame, so most of what happens during the Verdant Moon is really just prepping for that and completing any side quests and convos still unfinished. Which means things are wrapping up, and I found it was one of the last times I can actually have Bernie and Felix interact with a bit more...steam? (Relax, the ratings aren't getting any higher any time soon, it's not THAT kind of story!)
> 
> Also, Byleth totally makes her decision about who to hook up with at this juncture, but we all know where her heart lies at this point in my fanfic. :D
> 
> (But really, I'm dreading the next chapters and what I'm going to do to poor, POOR Ferdi *sobs quietly*).


	32. Horsebow Moon, 1186 (Part I)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which letters are sent and the final plans are set in place.
> 
> Or the Archbishop gets two letters and Bernie comes home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally got my best friend and her boyfriend playing Fire Emblem: Three Houses and IT. IS. GLORIOUS.
> 
> Neither of them started out with Blue Lions, but I can't win 'em all, haha.
> 
> Meanwhile, here I am, dragging my feet about writing the rest of the tale, because I DON'T WANT IT TO END DAMMIT. And yet, somehow, I also do?

**FODLAN, PRESENT TIME**

The woman stands regal atop a parapet, back stiff and countenance grim. Her fair hair--shorn off and tumbling in a straight cascade just above the shoulders--blows gently in the wind, and everything in that moment seems _ peaceful _if not for the biting of her lip, which shows worry. She does not move even as a freckled man joins her, bow and quiver of arrows slung behind him. The man is pale, but his eyes are calm, and he, too, watches the horizon. They do not stir for a long moment.

It is the woman who turns to him. She stretches her hand and he takes the rolled up letter from her. She does not utter a sound throughout the whole exchange.

He does, though.

“I’m flying back,” he says softly. “South, I mean.” As if he has to clarify _ where _. The woman already knows. Of course that’s where he will go.

She nods.

“Can you--” there is a breaking in his voice. “Can you tell Annette that I--”

That’s when the woman whips around to face him. “_ You _ will have me do no such thing. _ You _can tell her yourself. Idiot.”

The man is taken aback, and he stands there with furrowed brows.

“What you’re going to do is take my letter south,” she says. “You’re going to make sure that nobody is _ dead _ , and unless our _ king _has other plans, you are to fly back to your wife and stay there until this whole thing resolves itself.”

“And if Dimitri says I’m needed there?”

The woman looks at him sternly. “He will not. Not with…” here she hesitates. “He will send another messenger instead.”

There are no more words after that. The man nods, tucks the letter safely inside his pack. He gives a slight bow of his head--not one of a commoner to a noble (that kind of ceremony is no longer necessary in the northern territories)--but one of acknowledgement to an old friend.

The woman does not turn again. She hears the sound of wings and the roar of an ascending wyvern. She sees the wyvern lord take off, and only when the beast is a black speck in the horizon does the woman head back inside.

* * *

_ Archbishop Byleth Eisner Blaiddyd _

_ Hyrm, Former Alliance Territory, Unified Fodlan _

_ Pegasus Moon _

_ My Dearest Archbishop and Queen, _

_ Word has been fast spreading north, and if the missives are to be believed, I would very much like to chastise you. Or perhaps applaud you. Your actions are what I would consider very brazen and unsurprisingly typical of someone like Dimitri, but you too _ , _ Byleth? Can we have at least _ one _ sane monarch in our Fodlanian history of monarchs? _

_ The news from Hyrm continues to trouble Sylvain and me. We are both extremely frustrated that we cannot join you in your campaign. Even more so when the most current missive we received--from Ashe, of all people--describes a devastating and fiery explosion amidst the depths of the mountain. _

_ “The king sent me.” Ashe was barely off his wyvern before he started talking. His solo presence in the sky was a big surprise. (Dimitri always sent two messengers...) _

_ “Ashe! Take a deep breath, you’re agitated,” I told him, and for a moment I thought he would explode. _

_ “It’s chaos down south, Ingrid,” he finally breathed out after several beats. “It was a miracle I even got onto a wyvern to escape.” _

_ “What’s happened?” _

_ “The earth was set aflame,” Ashe said, and he took another breath. “It’s just like Gronder Field all over again.” _

_ Nobody has forgotten the fires of Gronder Field over decades ago. It was then that I dragged Ashe to the main keep and had my eldest take over from there. Bless Glenn; his parents have been terrors these past few moons, and he’s taken our moods in stride. _

_ As far as I heard, there are no casualties from the fires and the moving earth, but he mentioned grave injuries. He is shaken (and I would chastise you about that, too, taking Ashe away from an expecting Annette, but I understand the necessities in battle) and I’ve yet to know the full detail of this setback. Glenn has been attending to Ashe and will let us know when he’s recovered and able to give us a full recounting. _

_ All the same, I cannot help but worry about what Ashe will say. I can only hope the injuries do not actually lead to death, and they are just that: _ grave _ but otherwise fixable bruises. _

_ These Agarthans sound frightful, considering they’ve been under our noses for hundreds of years without our even noticing. Curan has forwarded Felicity’s letters to us, and it seems there is an even darker past to Fodlan than we’d been taught at Garreg Mach. _

_ The whole prospect is a mess, and if we weren’t fighting conflicts on two sides of Unified Fodlan, we would be able to assist. But the Srengi uprising is taking my and Sylvain’s attention, and if that isn’t taken care of, soon the warlord of Sreng will make his way to a vulnerable Fraldarius territory. Curan--as wonderfully talented as he is--cannot possibly hold off an army of wyvern knights from across the mountain. Not when he also has Derdriu to worry about. _

_ (Make note that we did not arrive at this joint decision peacefully. Sylvain is livid with me for setting him to rights; my adventurous husband would like nothing more than to fly south with a small battalion, but I talked him out of _that _ disastrous move. I’ll have you know he’s been giving me the silent treatment and if at some point you return north to a territory with one less Gautier lord, I’m sure you’ll understand…) _

_ When briefly questioned, Ashe has not given indication that we need to send any troops south. Perhaps things are not as dire as I would think. _

_ But just in case, Gautier and Galatea have the finest flyers on reserve. Just say the word. _

_ Please take care of yourself, Byleth. _

_ Ingrid Brandl Galatea-Gautier _

_ Gautier Territory, Faerghus, Unified Fodlan _

* * *

_ Archbishop Byleth Eisner Blaiddyd _

_ Hyrm, Former Alliance Territory, Unified Fodlan _

_ Pegasus Moon _

_ Archbishop, _

_ I know Ingrid will have contacted you herself, but suffice to say that I was against it from the start. As is, I swore a vow to Dimitri, and as a Gautier, my duty is to keep the north safe. You and I know I take my vows seriously these days. _

_ (All that aside, who do you think Dimitri shoved his responsibilities to? I personally don’t know how Felix does it on a day-to-day basis, I’m already overworked.) _

_ But just in case you had need of it, I sent the Lance of Ruin with Ashe. Use it well. I can make do with any number of weapons, and we still have Ingrid’s relic with us in any case. _

_ I’ve also sent Ashe another package; one I hope will at least keep you and Fey in better spirits. (He did warn me that you might be more than preoccupied, and that reading is the least of your priorities...but to hell with that. I choose to believe you are safe enough and have the time. Any other assumptions about your safety are too depressing to handle right now.)_

_It’s the last of Bernadetta’s journals. Please apologize to Felix and Fey for me; I had smuggled these out of the Fraldarius libraries before Fey had a chance to peruse them. I’ve always been a sucker for Bernie’s writing, and thought I could get a sneak peek at the final chapters of the Unification War. _

_ I assure you, they do not disappoint. _

_ Stay safe, Byleth, and send my love to Fey. I’d tell you to make sure Dimitri stays alive, but I trust with you, Dedue, and Felix there, he’s in the safest of hands. _

_ Sylvain Jose Gautier, Margrave [written and crossed out] and Acting King of Faerghus _

_ Gautier Territory, Faerghus, Unified Fodlan _

* * *

**HORSEBOW MOON, 1186**

“Are you nervous?” Felix asks behind me. His grip remains firm around my waist as we fly out of Merceus and towards Hresvelg--and Enbarr.

“I’m always nervous,” I reply, though I know what he means to ask. We are passing the final bastion that is keeping Edelgard away from us, and heading to the capital that some of us still call home. “Yes,” I say quietly, not loud enough for him to hear.

He understands my answer anyway, and he grunts in response. We stay quiet for the rest of the ride.

The preparations for an assault at Enbarr take little time once Merceus falls, and many of us wait with bated breath for Byleth’s signal.

When she calls for all of us at the War Council, she is unabashedly holding hands with Dimitri.

Nobody makes a comment, even though around me I see reaction upon reaction. I observe Seteth’s mouth thinning into a line, though whether it is of grim approval or subtle disapproval I am not sure. Sylvain’s eyebrows quirk and he looks at Ingrid conspiratorially. The lady knight shrugs, though she cannot hide the small smile forming on her lips. Annette and Mercedes suppress schoolgirl giggles, as does Dorothea. Ferdinand stares wistfully, though it is worry that creases his forehead. I know where his thoughts lie.

“It’s time,” Dimitri says, and he begins to move the pieces on his map.

The combined armies of Faerghus, the Alliance, and the Church amass at the front gates of the capital. It is an overwhelming number now, and if on any number of skirmishes, a bit excessive. But we are going against Edelgard’s Adrestian army, and the dark powers that seem to loom at her side.

I do not forget the Death Knight and the way magic seems to play a role in anything Edelgard does. There has always been something strange about her, the same way something strange clung to Lysithea at times.

“It’s the second Crest in me,” Lysithea whispers to me before we head out of Merceus. “At times I sympathize with the Emperor. If my guess is right, she is seeking retribution for the crimes the Church has done on her. On us.”

I look at her, surprised. “The...second Crest?!”

Perhaps it is because I hold a minor Crest and can do almost nothing with it, but it boggles me how anyone could deal with one Crest, let alone _ two _. And isn’t that impossible?

Lysithea glares at me, and I shrivel under her stare. “I’m saying that Edelgard is like _ me _ in that respect. We both hold a second Crest.”

“H...how do you know all that?!”

“I put two and two together,” Lysithea shrugs. “When she spoke to me at the Monastery, she always seemed angry about something the Church did. To her. And have you never seen the family portraits of all the ruling monarchs of the three kingdoms?”

I only stare at her, astounded. She sighs and gives me a different look. Frankly, her looking at me as if I’m stupid is a much better look than her piercing glares. “Edelgard’s hair. It’s stark-white like mine. You don’t get a change like that unless you suffered through the experiments. And survived. She has a second Crest.”

“Wow,” I say, because truly there is nothing else to say on the matter. “Just...wow.”

“Say what you will about her military prowess and the might of Adrestia at her side, but it’s the magic she holds that is the most worrisome.”

“But, Lysithea, surely our best mages are prepared.” I think about Annette and Mercedes. I think about Dorothea, who sharpens her sword, sparks of flame brightening each time she brushes her sword against a whetstone. I think about Lysithea herself, who is a powerhouse all to herself, her magic a force I would never go up against.

Lysithea turns away and looks out onto the horizon, toward the direction of Enbarr. “We can only hope.”

We descend into the middle of the Faerghus camp, and I am broken out of my reverie when the pressure against my hips disappears. Felix slides off my wyvern with ease, so used to getting on and off now that it’s reflex taking him down. Reflex also explains his outstretched arms as he helps me down. I give up scolding him about this. I can get off my own wyvern.

It is an overwhelming sight, all the people around us. It is equally surreal, because here is an army at the gates of where I used to live so long ago. We are preparing to barge into the city, and there is no telling what we will find before we make it into the Emperor’s palace.

Enbarr…

“Bernadetta,” Felix says, grabs me by the hand. “Let’s go.”

I let him wheel me toward the large blue tent, towards what could only be the final war council we will face before our final battles.

The thought makes me cringe, and I glance down at the hand grasping mine. I put pressure on the grip, thinking it might be my last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had honestly tried to stay in the boundaries of the letter-writing formula with Fodlan's present time, but like Felix's Interlude several chapters back, there were just some things better told in a character's narrative.
> 
> Now Ingrid kind of rubs me the wrong way. She's portrayed as that disapproving aunt with a holier-than-thou attitude, and within the BL family, she's not my favorite. But honestly, the Blue Lions needed someone like Ingrid, especially growing up like she did with the three knucklehead nobles.
> 
> What I do admire about Lady Ingrid the Lioness is that throughout all her endings, she is never not a knight. And with conviction like that, I needed to show it. And not just through a letter. (Also, I love writing Ashe...I don't know why, I just do!)


	33. Horsebow Moon, 1186 (Part II)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the streets Enbarr run red with fire and blood.
> 
> Or the time Bernadetta and company push forward towards the end game.

**HORSEBOW MOON, 1186 (Part II)**

The streets of Enbarr are silent, more so than the Holy Mausoleum. There are whispers around the walls produced by the wind, but not even the parapet is manned by an archer. Most of the houses--the brick buildings that kept the local folk--have been abandoned.

From above, I pass through a sea of red and yellow brick roofs, searching for a home I have barely seen in five years.

I send my wyvern swooping down, as close to the high streets as possible, though I know the search is in vain.

To her credit, at least Edelgard has sent an evacuation order. None of the innocents are to be witness to a bloodshed amongst the Adrestian capital’s streets.

Wherever she is, I hope my mother is also equally relieved that she isn’t here to possibly witness her own daughter’s death.

“You’re thinking maudlin thoughts again,” the whisper behind me catches my attention, and I stir. Felix pulls my back closer to his chest. “Stop it.”

“I can’t help it,” I snap. The Fraldarius heir has become very adept in reading my thoughts, and as annoying as it is on inopportune moments, I welcome the interruption. War begets strange bedfellows, after all.

That is, I...argh, that isn’t exactly the proper phrasing, is it?

“There.” Felix draws my attention towards the gates to the Imperial Palace. I narrow my eyes, knowing that none of our forces have marched this far ahead.

It doesn’t take long for us to see the Adrestian flag--the golden double eagle--flying nearby, and I know it’s Edelgard’s forces forming its final barrier. The last defense before we storm the palace.

It doesn’t take long to see who is at the helm of this final shield, either.

Hubert von Vestra.

The man--menacing as he was five years ago--stands tall, his dark robes billowing in the light breeze. From afar, I can still see the way his hands glitter with dark magic, and I know he is summoning something to his call.

I don’t know if he sees me, and for a moment I wish that he does, and that he hesitates. But I know better. Whether or not Hubert sees any of us makes no matter to him now. He follows no one but Edelgard.

“Time to head back,” Felix reminds me, and I turn my wyvern around. Some distance away, I see Ashe, Petra, and Ingrid doing the same. We are all flying back to report the numbers and the movements of Adrestia’s troops.

And when Dimitri says the word, we attack.

* * *

The monsters appear behind us, from the quiet gates.

Within moments, we are hemmed in and have no choice but to continue to move forward, Dimitri and Byleth at the forefront. Behind, I can hear the deafening cries of the monstrous birds, and I shudder with horror. Somewhere beneath the sharp claws and massive wings and menacing body is a person. Someone who had once been a Garreg Mach soldier; someone who was forced to become monsters.

I don’t know how many more we can fight before it all sinks in that we are killing our own friends. People we laughed with five years ago.

“Here,” Felix says forcefully. “Take me down.”

“What?” I ask, trying not to sound more alarmed than I am.

He catches my tone anyway. “Bernadetta, I can’t do anything up here. Let me fight below.”

It’s a strange feeling, often one I get now whenever I watch Felix throw himself into a serious fight. I know he can take care of himself. I know he is the most capable swordsman I have ever met in my life. I know that no matter how much they throw at him, he has a way to protect himself.

And yet I cannot help the way I try to keep him with me. I can help it no more than I can help the next words that escape my lips.

“I love you,” I whisper as we begin our descent. It is a small acknowledgement of this thing between us. It is a compromise, perhaps a promise. It is a message I know he could easily rebuff if he wanted.

_ Blades, blood, battle _. That is the Felix Hugo Fraldarius way. Everything else is a distraction.

When we land, I let go of the reins and I turn to help him slide off.

Felix catches both my hands with his, and I look questioningly at him. We are close already, but he seems to have found a way to get even closer.

The kiss he gives me is his reply. It is long and slow. As deliberate as any of his movements with a sword. It is as though time stops, and the only two people in that battlefield at that moment are Felix and myself.

By the time he is finished with me, I am out of breath, and that seems to elicit a crooked grin from him. My heart continues to beat at an inexorably fast pace, and the noise of the battle returns to my ringing ears.

“We _ will _talk,” Felix says, squeezes my shoulder one last time. “When this battle is over, Bernadetta, I will find you.”

It is a promise I hold onto even as I lose sight of him amidst the turmoil.

I try not to panic over it. I try not to let the negative thoughts come up, the way our last words were said because perhaps this is it. Perhaps this is the day we die.

The roaring of the large bird stops my wyvern mid-flight. I fumble for my bow, gripping my wyvern tight by my thighs. I shoot my arrow to stop the monster from getting too close.

But my arrow is nothing to it, and it continues to fly toward me, its monstrous beak opening to let loose some freak wind--

Black lightning shoots past me and toward the bird. Another one hits, and the monster shrieks. It is clear that its shields are broken. I shoot again, taking advantage of the monster’s distraction, and this time, my arrow strikes true.

When the bird finally falls, I look below and lock eyes with Lysithea. The gremory is at her prime, and there is still a lot of power brimming within her. I nod in thanks, and we both head towards the town center.

* * *

The battle begins to thin, though at great expense on both sides.

I see Sylvain battling on his steed, his Lance of Ruin gleaming in the sunlight. I see Ingrid covering the air above him, her own Relic striking fast at her opponents.

Felix is still nowhere in sight, and for a brief moment, I think he’s in trouble. When I near Ferdinand, I dismount and head toward the palace on foot.

“Is Felix--”

“Up ahead!” Ferdinand responds, dismounting on his horse as well. We rush up the stairs, taking care to avoid the battle in the sky. “They’re looking for H--for the general at the gates!”

It seems implausible, watching a heavily armored Ferdinand take the steep palace steps three at a time, while I struggle to run after him in my own armored leathers. He is spurred on by the thought of reaching the steps too late. Of the thought that he will not make it before…

Before Hubert is taken down.

I rush after him, knowing I would not want Ferdinand to witness the one thing he loves perish at another’s hands.

We arrive at the top, and we run around the wall in search of the opening. Below, the battle rages, but we are no longer part of that battle. We push ahead.

A warlock rounds the corner, and shoots an attack at us. Ferdinand gets in the way, his shield flaring in wake of the magic attacking us.

“Bernadetta!” he grimaces, taking the brunt of the magic. “Are you alright?”

I don’t respond to him. I aim at the warlock, who has left himself wide open. Hesitation is no longer an option. I fire. The warlock doesn’t have the chance to attack again.

“I’m fine,” I tell him grimly. _ Fine _doesn’t begin to describe how my insides are all mush. I cannot get used to the death, no matter how much blood is in my hands now. But I do not falter in my response. We have more important things to do.

He senses my determination, and we both continue on our way.

* * *

I was not there for Mercedes when her younger brother met his demise.

I was not present when Felix’s father died to protect Dimitri.

I was unable to help Ashe grieve when he used his own bow and arrow to bury a friend.

I was not strong enough or fast enough to save Leonie or Gilbert at Gronder Field.

But I will be damned if I am not there for Ferdinand. Ferdinand, who has been nothing but a friend to me.

And that is how I find myself by his side, and I am taking his hand and bringing him back up.

In the end, it is Byleth who strikes, a vengeful goddess of justice, Sword of Creator in hand. Byleth does not hesitate. She does not flinch. She is every bit the acting Archbishop, and I want to believe that somewhere within, she is keeping back her remorse, keeping back her guilt. Hubert was, after all, one of her students.

No, it’s not a belief. I _ know _she feels remorse. But she is Byleth, and she will do what needs to be done.

Ferdinand knows that like we all do. And we cannot fault her.

Perhaps it is best that it is Byleth who does Hubert in. Perhaps it is best that it is Byleth who hears his last words.

But when the smoke clears, when the town rings out the victory cries, when Hubert’s prone form is just another casualty like every Adrestian soldier, that is when Ferdinand approaches. He falls to his knees, the tears that did not spill before now brimming in his eyes. I look away.

Ashe approaches, and I shake my head. It is best to leave Ferdinand a chance to grieve, I try to say, but Ashe seems to take my meaning even before I can vocalize it. He orders his battalion of archers away, and I do the same to mine.

Throughout my time in Garreg Mach, Hubert was not a man to trifle with. It was difficult to know him, though those of us in the Black Eagles knew him better than most. Even after some of us transferred to Byleth’s classroom, we still spoke to him, still spoke to Edelgard. He had always been more open when it concerned Edelgard. And Ferdinand…

_ “I hate tea,” Hubert said with unbridled disgust. “I am more of a coffee connoisseur.” _

_ “We all know this, von Vestra,” Ferdinand rolled his eyes. “That’s why I brewed you a personal batch.” _

_ The answer had taken him aback, and whatever retort he had been saving was lost in his surprise. “You...I...what?” _

_ “I hear this flavor’s your favorite,” Ferdinand grinned. “I will admit, the smell is very reminiscent of a spiced tea I _ could _ recommend to you. I promise you that it has a taste that is very close to coffee.” _

_ “Perhaps I misjudged you,” Hubert finally said. He reached for the cup that was offered to him, and Dorothea and I glanced at each other when their fingers touched--just briefly. Dorothea was fighting a grin from exploding over her face, and I tried hard not to laugh. _

_ “Perhaps you have,” Ferdinand said thoughtfully. _

That relationship had become something more. It was unsaid between them...but we knew. And we cheered them on in our own quiet ways.

To see Ferdinand clutch at Hubert’s cloak, to find him resting his palm on the dark bishop’s pale, _ pale _cheek…to hear the muffled cries echoing in the silence...

If anyone asked me what heartbreak sounds like, I would point to this moment in time. Right here, right now, at the steps of the Imperial Palace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I actually finished the Ashen Wolves storyline before I started writing this chapter, and I was trying to find a way to incorporate some of them here...but I might just have to leave that off for perhaps another fanfic).
> 
> That being all said...
> 
> I am so, so, sorry for this. I did not think the whole Hubert thing was going to break me a bit. But it did. Of course it did. How could it not?
> 
> Now let me go quietly cry in a corner to try to recover from this madness.


	34. Horsebow Moon, 1186 (Part III)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the final battle is fought on all accounts.
> 
> Or that time Bernie storms a castle.

LETTER TO THE ARCHBISHOP

_ Archbishop Byleth Eisner Blaiddyd _

_ Garreg Mach Monastery, Unified Fodlan _

_ Great Tree Moon _

_ To Her Esteemed Archbishop, _

_ You insisted I write you the moment I returned safely to Fraldarius, and I must admit, I thought the notion was pointless, seeing as how Father would have been received at Fhirdiad soon after. What better news of my well-being than from my own trusted parent? _

_ But I suppose I’m writing now on a two-fold mission; one to remind you that I am well and slowly--but gradually--returning to a less arduous lifestyle (though there is much to be done within the territory as well as to the northern borders), and the other to enumerate the details that occurred at Hyrm. _

_ As to the reasoning for the latter, it did not seem enough to witness the events first-hand. Upon Uncle Syl’s request--and the request of the crown (doesn’t Uncle Dimi have some _ scribe _ to do this for him?!)--it was tasked to me to chronicle history as we know it. I don’t know why that is, because I am not quite as prolific a writer as my mother, but I can’t very well refuse the King of Unified Fodlan. Not for long, in any case. _

_ (Uncle Syl has been grinning in triumph about this, you know. He had come to visit several times just to read the first few pages of what he’s calling my “best nonfiction yet.” I’m beginning to see why Curan’s all but practically banned the margrave from barging in willy-nilly...) _

_ It makes the most sense to start from the beginning, but I have decided to circumvent that. With your permission, I have compiled all correspondence regarding my father’s disappearance and the events with the Agarthans as best I can. This includes the letters my father-in-law had sent across the mountain, as well as those given to you through Ashe. _

_ Instead, I will talk to you about what truly happened at Hyrm, the night the mountains were set aflame. _

_ Signed, _

_ Felicity Glenn Fraldarius, Duchess _ _   
_ _ Fraldarius Territory, Faerghus, Unified Fodlan _

* * *

_ [The letter is accompanied by several pages in Felicity’s meticulous handwriting.] _

_ Father had warned us about the insurrection happening underground. After we found him--in a haggard state that I’ve never seen my father in before--he had penned his own letter entreating the King to take his armies south. _

_ We stayed in Hyrm for some weeks, awaiting the King. To our surprise, he did not come bearing the banner of Faerghus, but that of the Church of Seiros. And at his heels, the Archbishop and _ her _ army. _

_ “That’s one way to keep this from becoming a civil war,” the Duke of Fraldarius explains when I ask him about it. “Instead, we fight under the semblance of a religious one.” _

_ “What’s the difference?” To me, the war we were fighting was no less important with the change of title. _

_ “The first,” he nods at the King in acknowledgement. Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd dismounts from his horse to approach us, “is that if Dimitri had brought his own army south, it would look like he’s trying to quash some rebellion in his own country. To have that kind of rebellion means that there are people working to oppose the king, which leads to rumors about him being unable to keep a united country together.” _

_ I give the king a small bow, and my father grasps Dimitri’s hand in earnest. “So instead of risking the political implications, the Archbishop steps in.” _

_ “Exactly,” Father says. He quirks a smile up at me. “By sending the Church, the conflict is no longer a set of people against the crown, but against a religious idea. Which has been the problem with the Agarthans to begin with. They’re underground and in hiding, biding their time to _ destroy _ the Church of Seiros.” _

_ “Which means you’re endangering my wife, asking to bring her here,” the king responds, joining the conversation. He does not look too happy about this, though he raises a hand to stop my father from responding. “Even if you hadn’t insisted on her taking the helm, she was adamant in accompanying me. And since when have any of us been able to stop _ her _ when she’s made up her mind?” _

_ After the brief greeting, Dimitri excuses himself and heads towards his operations tent, which had been erected some hours before his arrival. The Archbishop, who had just arrived on a wyvern, dismounts, gives us a wave, but follows her husband toward the tent. _

_ That was when the trouble truly began. _

_ To this day, my father and I cannot explain how the Agarthans knew that Byleth would arrive that day. Perhaps, like the Relics are drawn to our Crests, they felt her presence the moment she stepped foot on Hyrm. Perhaps, because of their connection with the Sword of the Creator, they knew she was there. _

_ The risk had been great that they would come for her, and yet we still found necessity in her joining this battle. What we had been unable to predict was the sheer force they would throw at us on the outset. _

_ The flames that erupted beneath our feet were like a force of nature. For a brief moment, we thought the mountains had exploded. Wyvern riders took to the air, and all of us mobilized to find safe ground. _

_ That was when Father and I separated. He had turned to me, the wild look back in his eyes, the words, “The Archbishop!” escaping from his lips. _

_ I knew he wanted me to go find the Archbishop, just as he would find and protect the king. So I nod and move away. _

_ I find Archbishop Byleth fending off a pack of wolf-fiends; demons of a nature I have never fought before. Byleth, on the other hand, seemed familiar with them, and without me, she had been able to cut down at least two before a third took a swipe at her. _

_ “Fire!” Byleth yells as I make my way to her side. “They’re weak to fire!” _

_ I almost laugh at the irony. Here we are, fighting beasts weak to fire, in the middle of all of Hyrm succumbing to molten flame. I briefly wonder if this is how Ailell ended. Or if this was something else. _

_ “We need to find higher ground,” I tell her evenly, after we cut down the last monster. “I don’t know--” _

_ A great booming roar, as if the top of the mountain truly _ did _ explode. _

_ That was when we saw them. The Agarthans. And with them stands a massive, hulking figure. _

* * *

**Horsebow Moon, 1186 (Part III)**

Dimitri had told us, before we entered the Palace, that the generals who fought at the city gates can take a step back to let the others through. Ferdinand and my fight were over, he’d said. We can let someone else take over from here.

After grieving at the entrance, Ferdinand accepts my hand and pulls himself back up. There is an intention in his eyes that I have never seen so strongly before.

“We need to end this,” he says, voice clear, merciless. It is a voice I never want to hear from him, of all people. “Edelgard will die today.”

And I?

As tempting as the prospect of taking a step back was, I’m not about to let anything happen to those I care about. Not now.

I know Felix wouldn’t let up on his fight, so why should I?

That is how Ferdinand and I find our way to the eastern side of the palace. That is how we both see the hulking and monstrous form of the crest-monster greeting us at the palace gardens. That is how I almost get killed.

Almost.

Behind the beast, a gremory wields lightning to strike from afar. We did not see him, obscured by the monster in front of us. Not until the lightning actually bolts toward me. 

I bring up Ladislava’s shield--the shield that had kept her almost indestructible--and for a moment it seems like I am too late.

But the magic in the shield does its work, and the lightning is absorbed. I feel the magical residue trickle to my arm, and while most of the magic has been deflected, there is still a pinch of pain that courses through to my shoulder. 

I drop the shield in agony, urging my wyvern to fly out of the way of the monster’s strike. Ferdinand yells at me to find the mage, and I try to do just that.

_ Try _is the key word. It is much harder to actually find the miscreant responsible for almost ending me, what with a lot of archers trying to shoot down the flyers. And me without a shield…

Petra flies with me, and with the both of us, we are able to confuse the archers enough that we avoid their shots. It is the magicians that are giving us both trouble, the way their flames roar toward us with clear intent to kill. 

“There!” I yell to Petra, pointing at a black-robed figure in a tall hat. “I see him!”

He is preparing for another lightning bolt attack, and Petra swoops in, sword at the ready.

The gremory stops his attack to try to deflect Petra, and instead he aims for her with a shorter-range magical shot.

He doesn’t get the chance. Petra is all speed on her pegasus. She circles around him and swoops in again.

Petra’s attack arrives just as my arrow strikes the gremory at the shoulder. He howls before falling to Petra’s sword.

I wish I could say that we both look at each other and sigh with relief, but another gremory trickles in through one of the garden entrances, and we have to do the same thing over again.

It is almost a never-ending onslaught of mages and archers.

Behind us, far towards the palace entrance, I hear the roar of the felled beast. I hear the clanking of armor, and I know that Ferdinand and the rest have vanquished the crest-monster. But that is little comfort, when another fiend shows up in front of Petra and me. My eyes are blurring between archer and mage, one after the other. The fiend does not help.

Annette blasts one of the archers with her wind magic, surging forth in wake of the last crest-monster’s death. Ferdinand keeps her safe with his shield, and Annette walks quickly up, wave after wave of her magic pouring forward.

Rushing just ahead of them, striking at one of the archers, is Felix.

That’s when I begin to cry with relief.

He glances at me, far above him, and he nods grimly. That’s his grand gesture. That, right there, is a message I understand. A promise of something more at the end of all this.

I am motivated to push forward, urging my wyvern through, Petra covering my back.

* * *

The entrance to the throne room is packed with Edelgard’s top security, though this does not say much about the morale of her soldiers. Edelgard's will may be indomitable, but her soldiers are made of different stuff.

Many of them had heard of Hubert’s passing. Edelgard’s top general--the right hand of Imperial Adrestia--is now gone, and only the empress stands in the way of a triumphant Faerghus. It is unsurprising then that some of these soldiers--these stalwart men holding double-eagle banners--would throw down their weapons and plead mercy.

If Dimitri had not made a change for the better at Gronder Field, I would have warned these men that their pleas fell on deaf ears. I would have warned them that the One-Eyed Demon did not show mercy.

“Felix, Sylvain,” Dimitri says, nodding to the two men by his side. “Escort these men out. Secure them, but make sure no harm comes to them. I more than understand the loyalty they give, even to a woman in the wrong.”

Sylvain brings up the lead, and the soldiers follow, unrestrained. Felix turns to look at me, and both of us examine each other. I make to follow him, but he shakes his head. He mouths, “Watch.”

It takes me a few seconds to glean his meaning. Watch Dimitri. Watch the history that is about to happen.

So I stand there, and I wait for orders.

But it seems Dimitri has forgotten all else once his eyes lock on the door that separates Edelgard from him. Beyond that door, a monstrous roaring can be heard, and my eyes widen with alarm.

Had Edelgard…

“She’s in there,” Dimitri murmurs, loud enough for all of us to hear, despite the softness of which he breathes out her name. “Edelgard.”

Byleth appears by his side, reaches up to place her hand on his shoulder. He takes his unoccupied hand and puts it on top of the same shoulder before removing Byleth’s hand and holding onto it for support.

It is the Archbishop who turns to the rest of us. “Keep watch. This is Dimitri’s--and my--fight.”

Ferdinand stiffens. “Byleth. Your Grace. Edelgard, she--” _ She needs to die_.

“Stand down, Ferdinand.” The Archbishop’s voice is a warning. Byleth knows that many of us want Edelgard dead. But there is a hesitance now in Dimitri’s movements. Before Gronder Field, we knew the result of Dimitri facing down Edelgard. We knew that he would have no compunctions about killing her. But now…

_ “I will reach out my hand to her.” _

It was something Dimitri had said after the celebrations had died in Fhirdiad. It was something he’d told us all before the battle at Merceus.

“But--”

“Ferdi,” Dorothea’s voice pleads, and he knows that whatever he wants--Edelgard’s death--does not matter here. Dimitri still has a choice to make, and his choice is to give out an option for salvation.

The roaring inside the throne room, however, grows louder, and no one knows how that instance will turn out.

We do not follow Dimitri and Byleth. We watch as the door is opened and closed before us, and we continue to watch even as the Archbishop and the King of Faerghus take those final steps to…

Salvation? Release? Destruction?

In that moment, I wish I had just followed Felix. The waiting and anticipation alone is itself another battle.

And I am very tired of battles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is obviously different from playing the actual field on that final chapter. When I first played it, I knew it was fitting to have Dimitri deal the final blow. But I had Ashe and Annette whittle away her HP beforehand.
> 
> This is not the case in the fanfic, because I really loved how that final scene played out. In the end animation of the BL route, it seemed like no one else was in the throne room other than Dimitri, Byleth, and Edelgard. So it comes full circle, where the two points converge, and all it would have taken for Edie to step into the light is to reach her hand back out. Alas.
> 
> Bernie's pretty much just staring at that Room Where It Happens, without actually knowing and seeing what truly happens in there. And I doubt Dimitri or Byleth will say much about it afterward.


	35. Horsebow Moon, 1186 (Part IV)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bernadetta conquers her demons.
> 
> Or that final encounter with Bernie's father.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> School is out, so I'm doing no teaching for the foreseeable few weeks! Which means I'll finally be able to finish this story! I'm looking at 1-2 more chapters to really tie the whole thing up after this!

**LETTER TO THE ARCHBISHOP**

_ [a continued account of the happenings at Hyrm] _

_ All the various histories of Fodlan that I’ve ever read did not prepare me for the legends coming to life. _

_ I did not know it then, but after several accounts from different people, I know now that whoever we faced in that battle at Hyrm was the manifestation of Nemesis, the goddess killer. He wielded a similar sword to the Archbishop’s Sword of the Creator, and I chastise myself for being so blind to not have seen it. _

_ Byleth must have felt _ something _ because she pulled the Relic and Seiros’ shield up immediately. I’ve only ever seen her wield the Relic once, and that had been as a show of force against a visiting and unruly Albinean faction. This time, though...she means to use it in earnest. _

_ The Agarthans emerged from their hiding places, setting fire to the land and scorching foe and friends alike. Whatever their goal, they mean to end things in Hyrm. Had they won, I shudder to think what would have happened to the rest of Fodlan. After all, the King _ and _ the Archbishop had been with us, alongside several key generals. _

_ Duke Ferdinand von Aegir recounts that the scorching heat had been worse in Hyrm than it was in Ailell when he fought agains the Empire, and Ashe corroborates this. The heat had been a detriment to most of our knights, whose armors hindered them from making any significant movements. Thankfully, we also had flyers who made it to the air. I watched Ashe’s disappearing wyvern, and I knew then that he’d found Dimitri. I hoped that my father had found the king as well, but that was no longer on the forefront of my mind. _

_ My concern was getting the Archbishop to where Nemesis stood, roaring a challenge to Seiros and the wielder of the Sword of the Creator. _

_ And eventually we do make it to him, though not without a huge struggle on our parts. The Agarthans used a magic that went deeper than what we learned at the sorcery academy in Fhirdiad; much more arcane that what our dark mages provided. Even their weapons seemed imbued with a strange aura. Untrained, our forces would not have been able to withstand the attack. _

_ But even Agarthans have their weaknesses. Even their magic has a limit. And even magic cannot fully stop the sheer force of a weapon strike. _

_ Thankfully, I had Felix Hugo Fraldarius as a father. And he trained me well in both. _

* * *

**HORSEBOW MOON, 1186**

“Are you sure, Lady Bernadetta?”

To be honest, I’ve been riddled with indecision ever since the Adrestian Empire fell. I’ve been riddled with indecision since after the battle, since after Byleth and Dimitri emerged, worn, sad, and a little less triumphant.

Even then, the crowd cheered. _ Roared _. They had been awaiting the fate of the empire, and the emergence of an unscathed Archbishop and a mostly unscathed King of Faerghus could only be described now as the stuff of legend.

Oh, how the Archbishop glowed, beautiful and victorious, the manifestation of the goddess herself! Oh, how the king was a resplendent, vengeful lion, great in his majesty!

Bards and operatic stage players are going to sing about the Savior King and the Archbishop for years to come.

What they won’t use in their poetry is the aftermath of the actual battle. Of how many of us--Dimitri and Byleth both--slink away days later, to congregate in the most derelict portion of Enbarr. Dorothea had found it for us; the ruins of what was once the Mittelfrank Opera House.

“Nobody will bother us here,” she assures us. We believe her.

Perhaps it is fitting, to be able to use a stage to mourn our friends who fell in battle. To finally say goodbye.

Songs will be sung for our heroes.

For Gilbert and Leonie, who fought valiantly and died too quickly.

For Lysithea--perhaps the greatest mage of our time--whose debilitating health and overuse of magic has taken a heavy toll. She will never be the same again.

For Rodrigue, whose hope for a just king, a _ good _ king, never wavered. He was every bit the Shield of Faerghus that we had all needed at the time.

These are the songs that will grow into legends.

But those were not the lives we honored, not in that stage, in the ruins of an ancient city.

One by one, we each say our piece about the men and women who fought us. One by one, we bow our heads--some in prayer, others in respect.

Mercedes weeps when she speaks about her younger brother. She is helped off the stage by Annette, whose eyes are also brimming.

Dorothea and I try to hold our heads up high as we reminisce over the good memories we had of Linhardt and Caspar.

Petra honors Ladislava, a warrior she had heard and grudgingly respected growing up in Brigid.

Ferdinand gives a rousing speech about Hubert. Nobody judges him when he fails to complete his speech. It is Hilda who reaches her hand to him, pulling him down from the spotlight, to be buried in a hug instigated by Raphael and what remains of the old Alliance generals working under Hilda.

It is Dimitri who closes off the ring of speeches. He steps up to the stage last, places a hand just above the place where Edelgard had injured him--a hand just a bit above his heart. He openly cries as he praises the girl he once knew and loved. The girl he had given a dagger to, in order for her to cut her own path.

“And she did,” Dimitri says, smiling despite the sadness in his eye. “She cut the only path she knew.”

Felix covers a sniff with a cough. Dedue steps back behind Dimitri, a form of shadow looming as a bodyguard. Sylvain does not even bother to hide his own tears. I know just by looking at them that there is no dry eye after Dimitri’s speech.

As far as funerals go, this is one that will always be ingrained in my memory.

“Lady Bernadetta?”

I stare, and for that brief moment, I forget that I am having a conversation with a sentry. “Uh…”

“She’s sure,” comes Felix’s cold, confident tone. He puts a hand on my shoulder, and I remember why we are here.

_ Here _ being the dungeons of what was once the Imperial palace.

“I...yes,” I take a huge gulp, nod my affirmation. “I would like to see my father.”

That’s something else that bards don’t sing about, I think wistfully. About how we are all loitering around the destruction, in hopes of fixing what we’d broken along the way.

News slowly trickles to us as Dimitri and the Faerghus army begin reparations for the damage that has been caused. One of the things I hear about is that my father, the former Lord of House Varley, is still one of the prisoners in Edelgard’s dungeon.

It is only days later where I act upon this news, after much indecision.

“Are you sure?” Felix had asked the same thing when I broached the subject. “He has been...a bad memory to you, hasn’t he?”

More than a bad memory, I almost tell Felix. But I think he already knows this, because he does not stop me when I finally muster up the courage to go.

The guard lets us through, but I stop before the entrance and look at Felix. “I...I would like to see him alone.”

Felix stares, eyebrow raised. He does not argue, only squeezes my shoulder again. I turn away and walk down the corridor.

“Bernadetta.”

I pause.

“He does not hold power over you. Not anymore. Remember that.”

I nod without turning my head, and I head to the bowels to face my father.

* * *

If I could change two things about my meeting with the former Lord Varley, it would be the following:

**One**. To have this meeting somewhere that didn’t remind me of the old room that still haunts me on occasion.

**Two**. To purge all feelings I have of a cruel man who, at the end of it all, is still my father.

But we can’t all get what we want, and I’ve been lucky so far, so I knew at some point I was going to get the worst end of the stick.

The dungeon was a typical dungeon; dark and musty and intimidating when you’re walking down the corridor with only one soldier leading the way. Several cells were empty, though from the look of things, many of the political and war prisoners cowered below. Many of those I pass by call for reprieve. Others curse me in the most horrendous language known to man. I wonder briefly how Dimitri will treat these prisoners, but honestly, I won’t lose sleep over most of them.

The soldier stops a little ways away from the main din of prisoners. He opens a door, which leads into a small room with a locked gate. Behind the locked gate is a man, huddled and bulbous and looking every bit like my father. Except even in the familiarity, a lot of Lord Varley is different.

He is...much _ less_. Somehow.

“I’ll be fine here,” I tell the guard, hoping there is no shaking in my voice.

The guard hesitates a moment, but eventually decides to listen. He puts the lit torch on the conch near the entryway. “I will be standing outside the door. If you need anything, I am a hair’s breadth away.”

“Thank you,” I tell him quietly.

He leaves me to confront my demons.

I make myself comfortable on the floor, and I see the man stir before me. It takes some seconds for his eyes to focus on me, and another few seconds to recognize the person in front of him. “B...Bernadetta?” he asks, voice hoarse, parched from lack of water. He exhales a breath, almost a laugh. “As I live and breathe.”

“Hello, Father,” I say. I steel myself from squeaking like some timid schoolgirl.

I am no longer that schoolgirl.

_ He does not hold power over you. Not anymore. _

“Is it over then? Is the battle won?”

“It is,” I respond. I notice my hands shaking and I ball them into fists on my thighs.

“I take it your side won,” he says, though I cannot discern whether he’s happy about this or not. “I’m impressed.” We both stay quiet for some time, but he continues. “But that’s not why you’re here.”

I shake my head. I could have cared less which side my father had been angling for. He was always going to be a rotten man. “No.”

“Then out with it, _ girl _.” He seems to have regained some disdain for me, because his last hiss reminds me of the way he always said “girl” when referring to me.

And I refuse to apologize for being a _ girl_.

“In a few days you will be released.”

“Hah!” Father says, triumph warming his voice almost to the point of normality. As if he’s really just conducting another one of our conversations. “Pulled your strings, eh? I suppose you think that makes you usefu--”

“I’m not done speaking.”

_ That _shut him up. It isn’t often that he gets interrupted. He certainly never gets that treatment with my mother and me.

Except now.

“How dare--”

I get up. He glares at me from his seat. He tries to do the same, to get up, to stare me down like he used to.

That’s the thing with bullies like my father. When they show strength and force, they do so in a position of power.

But he’s stuck now, chained to his cell, unable to cower me into submission.

_ Bernie _holds power over herself. No one else.

I take a deep breath. “You will be released,” I continue, keeping my voice as even as possible. “You will retain your property in the capital--which is the townhouse you own with the former Lady Varley. Mother--despite my objection--still seems to think you’re redeemable enough to want to live with. As for your title…”

I pause, slowly warming myself up to a grim smile. “It falls to me.”

My father practically _ growls _ his response. “ _ You_? What would _ you _ do with the Varley title? You are not _ fit _to be a Varley, let alone be a daughter of a noble house!”

_ Someone must put a stop to this cycle of the strong trampling the weak_.

I remember Dimitri saying these words before giving his blessing to what I decided to do.

“Given the chance, a number of things would change under my rule,” I admit, “But that will not be the case. I intend to relinquish the Varley title as well.”

The long pause is now of shock, not anger.

One thing I know about my father is this: he can rant and demean me all he wants, but at the end of the day, I am his only surviving line. I _ am _the means to further his legacy, to further his family line.

And right there, I tell him I am giving up that name, that legacy. I am ridding myself of the family name.

I am Bernadetta. Not Lady Varley. Not Lady Bernadetta von Varley. Just simply Bernadetta.

“What...what do you intend to _ do_? How can you possibly survive without the advantages of nobility?”

“I don’t know, I’ve learned quite a few skills when I was at Garreg Mach.” I don’t tell him about Petra’s offer to take me to Brigid, to employ me as one of her ambassadors between our kingdoms. I don’t tell him about how my friends are commissioning me constantly for new clothes, how Sylvain constantly nags me about my writing. I don’t tell him about how Lady Rhea has offered me a permanent position as a professor at Garreg Mach. “There are endless possibilities of getting by in the world. As a _ girl, _no less.”

I don’t wait for his response

“I wish you a long life, Father,” I finally say. “But don’t expect anything else from me.”

I bang the door, and true to his word, the guard opens up, letting me out. He takes the torch and leads me out. Out of the dank and mustiness. Out of a nightmare that constantly plays over and over in my head. Out to fresh air and light and hopeful dreams of the future. Out to Felix.

He waits there for me, arms crossed, the only telltale signs of anxiety in the way he holds himself up. He sees me--_me_\--and he doesn't ask the question he is meaning to ask. The guard murmurs something I do not hear, and Felix steers me away from the dungeons, towards the second floor, past my bedchamber, all the way to a secluded balcony.

Only then, _only then_, does he take me up in his arms. Only then, _only then_, enfolded in the comfort of steel and spice and everything that makes him Felix, do I start to shake and sob uncontrollably.

I’ve cried for many things this past few weeks. Sadness, pain, and loss have been constant companions.

But today, I cry with relief.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bernie's character comes full circle in the game, though I'm not quite sure I agree with some of the game endings with Bernie. Sure she's still got high anxiety (which will never fully leave her, I get it), and some of the characters do help in centering her, but I'd like to believe that alone, she can still find a way to live a normal life. I suppose that also depends on whether or not she frees herself from the Varley name. I think that's really the first step in the right direction. Being a Varley is really more trouble than it's worth, and with an asshat for a father...well. 'Nuff said.
> 
> Thankfully, in this fanfic's case, she gets the emotional support that eventually does let her break free. (Like that Ariana Grande song, teehee).


	36. Red Wolf Moon, 1186

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bernie encounters a Fraldarius at the Goddess Tower. One last time.
> 
> Or that S-Support we all have been waiting for.

**RED WOLF MOON, 1186**

After the traipsing we had done north and south of Fodlan, it’s almost surreal that we are returning to Garreg Mach Monastery.

Lady Rhea still needs to recover from imprisonment, though rumor has it that she intends to step down as well. I do not blame her. It has been five years since her disappearance, and by now everyone seems to think Byleth is the natural successor. She hasn’t led us wrong so far as the interim Archbishop. All Lady Rhea needs to do now is make it official.

Whatever the case, we will be getting an announcement soon, before we have to head north for the king’s coronation.

And quite possibly his wedding, if Byleth accepts his proposal.

Dorothea says he plans to propose, and I don’t doubt her information. The king has all but declared his love in public, after all.

“The Archbishop and the King of Faerghus,” Dorothea sighs. “What could possibly be more romantic?”

Frankly I’m happy for Dimitri and Byleth. They deserve the respite. There is still a lot of work to be done across the country, and Dimitri and Byleth will have a lot to do once celebrations have ceased. I know they will step up to the challenge, but I also don’t envy them their work.

“Lady Bernadetta?”

I almost squeak with surprise. “Cyril! Just Bernadetta, please!”

The boy--well, grown boy? Teenager? I never knew with Cyril--gives a slight bow, though I do detect a frown of annoyance on his face. “I was asked to bring this message. Honestly, I stopped being the messenger boy years ago, and still I’ve been subjected to this.”

“Wh...sorry?” I accept the piece of paper he stretches out to me and open it.

“What is it, Bernie?” Dorothea says, craning over my shoulder. “Who is it from?”

“You’re overly curious,” I say, opening the letter. It’s my turn to frown, because the letter couldn’t have been any more vague.

_ Goddess Tower. Midnight. _

My heart skips a beat or two.

“Did...who gave you this?” I ask, suspicious.

Cyril shrugs. “Honestly, I delivered a lot of messages from the audience chamber today. A lot of King Dimitri’s generals were there finishing final preparations to march back to Faerghus. And I don’t really make it a habit to read other people’s things.” He gives another nod and walks away, muttering a few more things under his breath.

“So this could have come from Feeeee-lix?” Dorothea whispers in a sing-song voice.

My entire face goes red and I fight the urge to swat the letter over Dorothea’s perfectly coiffed hair. “Or  _ not _ ! It could be King Dimitri being dissatisfied with my service and maybe he’s choosing to end my life then and there. Or maybe Byleth is going to force me to take back my title because of political reasons, and--”

It is Dorothea who actually slaps me on the back.

“O...ow! What was  _ that  _ for?!”

“Well? Are you going?”

The Goddess Tower at midnight. The last time I’d been up there…

I bite my lip. “Do...do you think you can go up there with me?”

Dorothea’s teasing expression sobers up, and I cannot tell what she’s thinking behind her more serious expression. “Oh, Bern. Is it still so difficult for you to look forward to something like this?”

“But--”

“I think it’s better that you go yourself,” she tells me, and my heart sinks. I can’t honestly go to the Goddess Tower again. Not when I have no idea what it would mean. How things would change.

“For all I know,” I say weakly, almost jokingly (though it’s  _ still  _ a very near possibility), “it’ll be my last day in this wretched world. This could  _ still  _ be a plot to kill me.”

“I suppose,” Dorothea says, patting me on the shoulder, “So here’s the deal. I’ll go with you until the entrance. You’ll have to do the climbing on your own.”

I nod. “You will?”

Dorothea grins. There is a mischievous glint in her eye. “I wouldn’t miss this chance! Now come. We’ve got little time to waste.”

“Uh...what?”

“If you’re going to the Goddess Tower to  _ die _ , wouldn’t you want to die looking your best? And for that, we’re going to need Mercedes, and Annette...oh! And possibly Hilda.”

“Whaaaa?”

* * *

The Goddess Tower remains imposing, even after these five years. It remains one of the few towers at Garreg Mach that has been preserved after the war, though these days there aren’t enough soldiers to stand watch and guard it.

It’s why it was very easy to slip in this time.

Dorothea pouts. “And here I thought I would need to distract a guard by flirting with him. This was less exciting than I thought.”

And yet, why do I feel like I’m headed to my doom?

The rest of the day I agonize over what the message meant. Who did it truly come from? Why the Goddess Tower at night? Is someone really going to want me killed  _ now _ ?

It didn’t help that Dorothea spends a good deal of time whispering with Annette and Hilda, and that they keep looking at me with serious expressions. Mercedes completely overhauls my room, taking out clothes I created for myself before deciding on one I’d never worn before.

My eyes bulge. “Oh,  _ that _ ? Oh, no. No, no, no. I was just...that’s just an experiment!”

Annette oohs and aahs, and claps her hands. “You have a good eye! It’s almost like what I wear when I dance!”

I blush, try not to stammer. “It’s based off of...yeah. I...really liked your outfit at the White Heron Cup, Annette, so I thought I could work on something more purple and very similar in design. It’s not meant to be worn by  _ me _ , though! This was supposed to be for…”

“It’ll fit,” Dorothea says confidently.

And amidst all my objections, the girls pretty much stuff me into the  _ one dress _ I thought I’d never wear.

So there I am, shivering beneath the starlight, nothing but this flimsy dress on and Felix’s old cloak draped around my shoulders. I’m fairly certain  _ I’m  _ going to be the one doing all the killing, once I find out what this whole cloak-and-dagger nonsense is all about.

“Okay, I’ll stay here, good luck!”

I don’t know what Dorothea is wishing me luck for, because, again, I have  _ no idea _ what’s in store for me at the top of that tower.

The walk up the stairs feels similar to the last time. Even the cold atmosphere reminds me of the Ethereal Moon and the night of the ball. I slog on in silence, my foggy breath and my slippers the only accompanying noise.

The voice that greets me at the top of the tower is both impatient and relieved. “Finally, you came.”

He sees me before I see him, and I fidget. I pull the cloak around me a little tighter, take a breath. “The way you wrote the message, honestly. The Goddess Tower?  _ What  _ are we doing here? Alone, for that matter...you know, I almost think you’re going to--”

“Murder, poison, or dismember you?”

“You laugh, but it could still be true!” I huff with indignation. His mocking tone gives me enough courage to step up in front of him, to glare at his amused expression. He gives me a half-smile. “For what it’s worth, I’ve made my peace, but let me tell you, I’m not even worth mur--”

He laughs, and I stop talking, because he’s taken his hands and pulled the sides of my cloak closer to him. “This place hasn’t changed, and, in some respects, neither have you.”

“I...I hope that’s not true. I wasn’t a pleasant person back then,” I say softly.

“You give yourself too little credit.” He doesn’t pull closer, but he doesn’t let go either. His gaze goes above my head, and up at the stars, before he returns to my face. “The boar king has made it official, you know. Thrust the bombastic title of “duke” on me, and  _ then  _ had the audacity to tell me I’m now his right hand.”

I can’t help but snort at that. “That’s a...bad thing?”

Felix--ever the realist--scoffs. “I’m being put to pasture. We spent five years fighting to bring peace to Fodlan, but now that we have it, it’s  _ boring. _ How many more chances do I have to swing my sword at my enemies? How many more life-threatening battles do I really have?”

“Felix...you’re  _ complaining _ about peace.” I mean to say that he’s being absurd, but there’s something about what he says that does ring true.

Blades, blood, and battle. Those were things that he treasured, and without them, how much of Felix is still Felix?

“I’m still a warrior at heart, and here I am, watching sadly as my blade grows dull.”

I pull away, and he doesn’t stop me. “That’s...that’s selfish, and you know it.”

My outburst must have taken him aback, because he combs his gloved hands through his hair in frustration. “You know? You’re right. It is a foolish complaint, considering the lengths we went through in this war. All the same…”

“Felix, why am I here?”

There it is. A question I cannot take back. I remember his last words to me in Enbarr.

_ After the battle, we will talk. _

I remember my last words spoken to him during that battle, too.

I had told him I loved him. And here he is, probably trying to let me down as best he can. He  _ is  _ duke now. What can he possibly do with a woman who no longer has a title? What possible hope of a progeny is he going to have?

There is a pause, and I look away. I know he still continues to stare at me, because my cheeks grow hotter, and I’m about to combust into flames, and if he doesn’t do anything soon, I’ll--

“This isn’t a bad look on you,” he says carefully. I feel him approach, and this time, he’s taken both my hands. I feel a cold metal being pressed to my hand. “I’ll tell you why I asked you to come here. Take this.”

Whatever comment I had prepared on my way up here has disappeared. Instead I go back to my nervous babbling, and I cannot stop myself. “Wh...what is...is this a ring? Um, what kind of ring is this? When a man gives a woman a ring, it usually only means…Is this what it means?”

Of course it is, silly Bernie. Why in Fodlan would he have shown it to you, alone, in the Goddess Tower?

“You’re pretty slow on the update, aren’t you?” It’s not meant to insult. But he does sound a bit impatient on the matter.

Felix gently pushes me so that my back hits the pillar, and he brings his hands to either side of my face, keeping me from bolting as he angles his head down. I can feel his breath slowly warming my cheeks--and I  _ know _ for a fact that I  _ am  _ going to melt sometime soon. Give it a few more seconds.

He tilts my head up with one of his hands. I can see the earnestness in his amber eyes, and it’s an expression I can never tire of seeing. “Listen carefully. I’m not going to say this more than once. I know you had been set on not taking on a title, that you relinquished all your hold on the Varley lands, but I still hope...no, I  _ want _ you to share in my future. As duchess. I love you, Bernadetta, and I want you to be my wife.”

“Aah,” I say.

Mush. Bernie’s brain is mush. Bernie has no response except lots of words that aren’t even words, because when does  _ this kind of thing  _ happen to her in a lifetime? Who in their right mind wants Bernadetta as a wi...as a…

Felix just asked me to marry him, and I’m sitting there like a Fodlanian carp gulping at water.

“...That’s all.” Felix’s warmth begins to disappear as he pulls himself away, and my brain is slowly registering that he’s about to turn and leave me there without answering him.

Because  _ of course  _ that’s what Felix will do when he thinks I’m rejecting him.

Which is most definitely  _ not  _ the effect I want.

“W...wait!” I grab his sleeve, and he stops. My hand closes on the ring he gives me, and with shaking fingers, I try to put it on.

He meets me halfway, holding my hand steady and helping me slide the ring onto my finger. It glistens and I am half in tears. “There’s...there’s a reason I’ve been able to cope with going out of the monastery so much, Felix. It’s because I’ve been with you. I’ll...I’ll never completely get over my anxiety, or my fear of strangers,  _ or  _ my compulsive need to run and hide. But you’ve accepted that, and I cannot ever forget that you supported me through it all.”

I remember the battles we fought side by side. I remember the way he always protected me from harm, getting injured several times. I remember the way I jumped to his aid, the way he looked at me when my bow and I became one. I remember the time his father died, how I lay there by his side, the way he held me when I dealt with my own father some months back.

Felix Hugo Fraldarius, a sword and shield, not just for Faerghus, but for me as well.

“I’m taking that as a yes, then.” Felix’s mouth hovers over mine, yet still he waits for a response.

“I accept! Of course I accept! I--”

It is all the confirmation he needs, and he kisses me. Slow and deliberate and with passion, his arms closing around me as I kiss him back.

The sky above us is filled with stars. The cold, winter breeze is almost unbearable at the top of the Goddess Tower. Dorothea waits below, though I know she will have found something to occupy her time. I probably look ridiculous in this dress, and on top of that, I’m shivering because it’s so darn  _ thin _ .

But somewhere between our kisses, Felix’s hands begin to roam, and I don’t complain about the warmth and the way he whispers in my ear. I do not remember what he says beyond how he says my name, because everything melts into one absolute, undeniable fact.

The fact that there, at the top of a lonely tower, is a nice guy with a girl, cut off from all the rest of the world.

And at that point, nothing else seems to matter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had originally started this chapter with Felicity's accounts of Hyrm, then promptly deleted the whole thing and started over again. Because honestly, the proposal scene with Felix takes the cake, and I didn't want to add any other distractions to this scenario.
> 
> I changed a few things, especially about the location. In Felix's S support with Byleth, he proposes at the training grounds. In Bernadetta's case, though, Byleth proposes to her at the Goddess Tower. Change is a major part of Bernie and Felix's relationship, so Felix meeting Bernie at the Goddess Tower shows his willingness to change FOR her, and Bernie accepting his proposal despite what it means about her re-ascension to the rank of nobility shows that she's willing to change FOR him.
> 
> Sigh. It's adorable.
> 
> Also, hands down, Felix's CGI proposal still remains my favorite in FE3H. (The winning "marry me" dialogue still goes to my boy Sylvain, tho.)


	37. Letter to the Archbishop

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which letters are sent and that is that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This ends the tale of Felix, Bernie, and Fey. And what a tale it turned out to be! I hope you enjoyed reading it as I did writing it.

LETTER TO THE ARCHBISHOP

_ [continued accounts of the events at Hyrm] _

_ Father had always maintained that the best way to keep your skills sharp is to train every day as if your very life depended on it. _

_ It is a very dramatic approach, and Father does have a flair for the dramatics when it comes to swordplay, but it is highly effective to this day. _

_ Perhaps that’s why the Archbishop also takes the same approach. Perhaps that’s the reason why she didn’t die on that battlefield, against a foe designed specifically to kill her. _

_ Byleth is a force. That is the best description I can really give about how she fought on the battlefield that day. It was a battle difficult to follow, not so much because the fight itself was too fast for a discerning eye, but more so because it’s difficult to  _ **understand** _ . Where did all that power come from? How did this shadow-figure, this so-called Nemesis, regain his glory? _

_ When he was with the Agarthans, Father had mentioned there was a plot to depose the Archbishop. He’d talked about it at length as we traveled back to Fraldarius, but nowhere in his accounts did it specify the means of doing so. Like his Agarthan saviors, he was not privy to such exclusive information. _

_ “And even if I had known,” Father said wryly, “It would not have changed anything.” _

_ He’s right, of course. Byleth and Dimitri would still have moved an army to Hyrm, knowing that there needed to be a resolution to this conflict. And by the goddess, we need it resolved once and for all. _

_ I cannot say how long the fight lasted between the two. Some accounts vary. It happened in a blink of an eye. It took hours for Nemesis to die. Some people waited with bated breath upon the outcome. Others averted their eyes and focused on their own demons. As much as I wanted to stay and watch, it was not practical to do so, and I scanned the area for more enemies. _

_ Far from the field, I saw Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd, fighting with the strength of a crest-beast, with my father blasting away at anyone that got too close. _

_ On the opposite side, Ferdinand von Aegir and Hilda Valentine Goneril, back to back. I let a sigh of relief wash over me, knowing that they, too, emerged out of the fiery destruction mostly unscathed. _

_ (Aunt Hilda has since decided to put away Freikugel in lieu of happy retirement in Almyra. “For good,” she told me. “I’m done with all this fighting and risking my life! We’ll let Holst handle everything else.” We all know her retirement will be short-lived. She’ll grow too bored, or my father-in-law will certainly find a way to recruit her to one of his international schemes. Give it a year or two, and even Uncle Dimi will be able to get his eastern spy-master back.) _

_ I do not get to see anyone else, because by that point, my own attention becomes occupied. _

_ “You!” a voice booms. “You’re the Aegis-Bearer’s daughter!” _

_ I grip on the Sword of Moralta, and I swivel my head at the voice. _

_ The voice hisses with disgust. “And holding the Executioner’s sword, no less. You are not fit to wield such a wonder! Not fit to carry the Fraldarius line!” _

_ I wish I would have been able to question him. I wish I would have been able to disarm him so that there is a chance to solve more of the Agarthan mysteries surrounding us. _

_ But needs must, and I am, after all, my father’s daughter. When the Agarthan struck, so did I. _

_ What they don’t say about the heat of battle is how quickly it starts and ends for those doing the dueling. As a duelist, I have been taught to let my reflexes and training do the fighting for me. It is no different that day; and as the Agarthan--intimidating as he is on horseback--charged, I don’t think about the fact that I’m at a disadvantage. I don’t think about how his lance has a better reach than my sword. I don’t think about his massive red-eyed demon-horse bearing down on me like some creature of legend. _

_ I can’t say for certain what I did to gain victory, or how I survived that encounter. (Uncle Syl is disappointed in the lack of details here.) I don’t think in that regard. I did what I had to do to survive. I let my father’s training permeate my senses; I let my magic surge through and followed it up with the sword soon after. _

_ What I can say is that it was over in a few minutes. Less. What I can say is that as my own battle completed, others around me were also finishing theirs. The next time I looked up on the peak of the hill, where the Archbishop fought, her fight, too, was over. _

_ The rumbling and flames began to die down. _

_ All around me, Garreg Mach soldiers let out whoops of joy, some waving their weapons wildly in the air, others dropping them entirely in order to hug the closest ally to them. The more wary kept their swords and magic aimed at the surviving Agarthans, trapped now within irons or magical cages. _

_ When I saw my father and King Dimitri crest the hill to meet with Byleth, I knew the fight was over. I sank to the ground. I would have wept then and there, if not for the fatigue. _

_ It was a long campaign on my end. And I’m terribly overjoyed that I regained my father after all of that. _

* * *

Felicity Glenn Fraldarius put her pen down and glanced out the window. Already the sun was beginning to set, and she became aware of the pains on her back. She grimaced as she tried to stand, realizing that she had been writing all day. Next to her papers, a platter of what she recalled was supposed to be her dinner; untouched save for the half-drunk Almyran-blended tea she had been occasionally sipping throughout the day.

“Done, are you?” A swarthy man with dark locks and equally dark eyes said from the doorway to her study.

“Almost,” she said, picking up the pen once more. She signed her name at the bottom, blew on the last page a few times. She allowed some time for the rest of the ink to dry, then bundled up the papers, including another journal with it.

She stood, gingerly at first, groaning somewhat when she felt the ache over her shoulders and back. She had foregone her daily training in lieu of writing the last of her letters to the Archbishop that month, and immediately regretted doing so. If her father knew…

“This is for the Archbishop,” Felicity said to her husband, “I know you’re headed to Garreg Mach next week. Will you see to it she receives the package?”

“Of course. But Fey…”

She wrinkled her nose. She knew exactly what he was going to say. “Margrave Gautier can  _ wait _ for the last installation. I can’t expect him to be here all the ti--”

“That’s the thing.” Curan looked a bit apologetic, enough that Felicity’s eyes narrowed with suspicion.

“...He’s here again, isn’t he?”

“In the practice grounds. As is your father.” Curan shrugged. “I could have dealt with the Margrave just fine, but--”

To his surprise, Felicity actually let out a laugh. She reached up, grabbed her husband’s collar, and gave him a quick peck on the lips. “Well, in that case, I guess that’s okay. Bring them the documents, will you? I’ll meet you and the others once I’ve tidied the place up.

The duke’s office returned to its general silence, and Felicity looked around once more. She had noted that, within the past year, it had become more cluttered with her things than her father’s. When he had returned for a short spell a month ago, she had suggested moving her things back to her own study; Felix had stayed her hand.

_ “It looks better,” her father said, examining the room. “It was always meant to be yours.” _

_ “But where will you conduct your business? You’re the duke!” _

_ “Perhaps,” Felix responded, smiling grimly. “But Fraldarius territory has been doing well with its duchess. Besides, Dimitri wants me back in Fhirdiad. Said something about keeping his eyes on me for a while. I’ll have no need for this office in that case.” _

_ And just like that, the place became hers. A study of her own, with her mother’s books and her father’s Relics; both of them permeating the walls as though they were still there. _

_ “Don’t think I won’t visit often, though,” Felix eventually said, kissing his daughter’s temple. “There are still things that will tie me to Fraldarius Territory. More than you know.” _

Felicity smiled at that. She supposed that would have to do.

* * *

_ Archbishop Byleth Eisner Blaiddyd _

_ Garreg Mach Monastery, Unified Fodlan _

_ Garland Moon _

_ Her Esteemed Archbishop, _

_ Apologies for being unable to write you until now. It has been a busy few months in the northern territories, as you may be aware according to what the king will tell you. While the tensions with the Agarthans have so far dissipated, there are still a number who cannot seem to relinquish their crusade and alliance with the Srengi. _

_ Fear not, I can assure you that with the full might of Gautier and Fraldarius, this whole “Sreng Shenanigan” (please don’t ever let Uncle Syl come up with titles again) will be put to rest before the Almyran delegation pays its customary visit next moon. _

_ I do hear that congratulations are in order! I know the succession for Archbishop and the sovereignty has been the stuff of courtly intrigue for the past few months, and I am heartily glad that you’ve put that to rest. I hear you are making it official with a formal ball during the King’s birthday. It will be triple the celebration! Of course, I will be making my way there, if only to congratulate our Crown Princess and our future Archbishop. _

_ I want to thank you for the package that I recently received. I know Uncle Syl had taken my mother’s journals for perusal, but I welcome them back with open arms. Uncle Syl has been quite smug about having taken them from  _ **my ** _ office, but he’s wrong on one account. _

_ He did not read my mother’s final journal entry. _

_ The final one--where my father finally proposed on Red Wolf Moon some years ago--have been torn out of those journals entirely. Father had been keeping them on his person, and continued to do so even during his captivity. He keeps that final entry with him even now. _

_ You would never have guessed that my father was sentimental, but he is. _

_ And I love him all the more for it. _

_ Once more and with feeling, I send you all my love! _

_ Signed, _

_ Felicity Glenn Fraldarius, Duchess _

_ Fraldarius Territories, Faerghus, Unified Fodlan _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, I cannot thank you enough for reading this from start to finish!
> 
> When I started writing "The Varley Files," I did it without any expectations that anyone would read it. It was an idea about a not-so-common pairing in FE3H, and it was going to introduce an original MC who would also be telling the tale along with Bernie--who is a polarizing character at best. This is a niche type of story, and not everybody's cup of tea! (Which is not a bad thing.)
> 
> What I did not expect was the feedback you guys have given me. I know I haven't responded to many of your comments, but know that I've read them all and am totally heartened by your responses to this story. Writing is a grueling taskmistress, and she would NOT let up until I finished the entire thing. And if that meant writing some 90k words of a Bernie-Felix slow-burn, who was I to stop her?
> 
> At the completion of this tale, I've now clocked some 350 hours on FE3H, and have started another BL run-through, this time with the attempt at Maddening Mode (HAHAHA we'll see how long that lasts...). I've got the DLC characters in now, too...which is going to be interesting because Yuri's backstory ties in with Bernie's, and I...kind of love that. Felix is forever my tsun-bae though.
> 
> Who knows whether or not I'll write another FE3H story. But I cannot deny that this was fun.


End file.
